


That Awful Bitter Taste

by Mikimoo



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-06-13 10:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15362973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/pseuds/Mikimoo
Summary: Roped in to find out what has happened to Dick on an undercover mission, Jason finds himself faced with situations that challenge his personal identity. Meanwhile, Dick is having to face demons from his past, and Jason is not sure if he is helping or hurting.But of course, the best time to have this particular existential crisis is while trying not to die in the desert, and being chased by angry men with guns.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zillabird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zillabird/gifts).



> Additional Warnings: Some discussion of past Non-Con in later chapters, discussion about non-con with minors, violence, murder, angst, racist views and terrible people.
> 
> Also, i'm British, the desert is not something I am personally familiar with (hell, the sun is not something i'm that familiar with most years) But I did do some research into the area - I have tried to be as accurate as possible, but have also taken some artistic license where needed, I hope you will forgive me for that!

 

Jason had been ignoring the constant squeaking of his comms unit, and the endless buzzing of his phone for the better part of the day. Whatever B wanted, he could shove it. 

Their last meeting had not gone well – Jason had been sticking to the rules, right up until he had to choose between letting a civilian die or shooting some human shit stain. He could have gone for a non-lethal shot, but from that angle there would have been a 30% chance he would have missed and the hostage would have died. He wasn’t willing to risk those odds for the sake of a scumbag, so he shot the top of the guys head off. He had lived, surprisingly, but only to be a drain on the city’s resources as he ate breakfast, lunch and dinner through a tube for the rest of of his days. 

Batman had not been happy.  He’d glowered, said some things, and Jason's carefully built control had shattered like a glass hitting a stone floor. They had nearly got into it for real, would have if not for the presence of the brightly coloured Glow Worm, or whatever the new kid was calling himself. Signal. Right. 

But that had been over a month ago, and he was only just back in Gotham. He was also not feeling up for whatever had B in a tailspin so he left his phone, his computer and all of his communication devices screaming at him for hours as he meticulously cleaned his guns and prepared his dinner. Unlike some members of his family, he tried to eat at least one healthy home cooked meal a day rather than just junk and take-out. 

He sat down to his Spaghetti Vongole with relish; it was a dish he had learnt from Alfred, getting the recipe almost immediately after the first time the man had served it to him. And to think he had turned his nose up at the idea of eating clams. As soon as he had gotten a sniff of the cooked dish he had gobbled it up so fast he had almost choked. Alfred had raised a bushy brow and offered him seconds, then thirds, as he had trailed the butler into the kitchen. “We are going to have to feed you up a little, master Jason. You are too skinny by half.” Jason had shrugged and held out his plate. No way he was turning down free food from these morons. He would eat his fill, rob them of anything he could get use or cash out of, and then he would be gone. Maybe go to New York, out of the Bats range. 

He hadn’t though. Should have, every instinct had been telling him to. But somehow Alfred and his damn clams, his careful instructions on how to make fresh pasta, and the occasional warm smile from Bruce had kept him there long after he should have been gone. 

Those memories were still floating though his head as he shovelled down his dinner and read over the schematics for possible bike improvements. Maybe that was why when his phone blared out Alfred’s custom ring (London Calling, classic song) he actually took notice. It could be Bruce being sneaky or it could actually be Alfred needing his help.

In retrospect, maybe he could have let it ring. Then again, maybe he shouldn't have let himself get won over by perfectly cooked molluscs and garlicky pasta all those years ago. 

Instead, He answered the call. “Yeah?”

“Master Jason.” Alfred’s clipped tones sounded as unflappable as always. “It has been rather trying getting in touch with you.”

“Sorry,  I’m not in the mood to deal with his lordship’s moods today.”

“Or any day. The pair of you are two of the most stubborn creatures I have ever encountered. It has taken me three days to convince him to call you in, and then I have been forced to listen to his teeth grinding as you refuse to answer.”

“Yeah, well. He’s an ass,” Jason said, unapologetic.

“Sometimes,” Alfred agreed, “but this is a matter of some urgency, I’m afraid. And we’ve already wasted time dealing with obstinacy. So, if you would be so kind as to, if you will excuse the expression,  _ get your rear in gear _ , and head on over to the manor, I would be much obliged.”

Jason didn’t like to disappoint Alfred, but even though he was full of curiosity and a growing sense of dread, he was just as stubborn as Bruce on a good day.

Before he could formulate a polite way to tell him to bug off, Alfred cleared his throat. “ _ Now _ , Master Jason. I shall expect you within the hour.” Then he put the phone down. 

Jason deliberated for a few moments but, in the end, he packed his shit and got his rear in gear.

 

While Alfred’s voice had been completely free of stress, his face showed signs of tension and worry.

“Master Jason. Very good of you to join us,” he said in a polite tone, as though he hadn’t just ordered Jason to light a fire under his ass. 

“What’s up, Alf?” 

“Master Bruce needs your help.” He seemed to spot the forming scowl on Jason’s face and pre-empted whatever complaint he was going to make. “ _ We _ need your help.”  Never let it be said that Alfred couldn’t deal out orders and emotional manipulation like the best of them.

“He has a literal flock of orphans at his beck and call, why does he need me?”

Alfred sniffed in that English Gent way he had; equal parts disdainful and fondly exasperated.  “You may have flown the nest, Master Jason, but you are still a part of this family and, as second eldest, you have more experience than most.”

Second eldest. Either Dick had flat out refused to have any part in whatever this was, or he was the cause of the tightness in Alfred’s face. He was going for option two – Dick could no more refuse Alfred than Jason could. Or Bruce for that matter. 

 

In the cave, part of the problem became obvious. Jason whistled as he took in the impressive cast holding parts of Bruce’s body immobile. 

“Fractured leg, shattered hip, broken ribs,” Bruce said, curtly. barely taking his eyes of the computer in front of him.

“And a serious concussion,” Alfred added sharply. 

“I’m going for surgery tomorrow, I should be ready for action again soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Alfred said, again with that edge to his voice. 

“Can someone tell me why I’m here?” Jason sighed. 

Bruce stubbornly tapped away at the computer, stiff body held at an awkward angle, so Alfred took charge, ushering Jason further into the interior of the cave and gesturing for him to sit. He didn’t.

“Master Dick has gone undercover with a group of people traffickers. He needs back up, or possibly extraction.”

Bruce pulled up a bunch of maps on the large screen; there was a lot of desert. It would suck to go out there this time of year. Especially for someone with Jason’s pale completion. Whatever this was, he was going to hate it. 

Bruce was still intent on the maps – pointing out the long complex border that ran through the Sororan. “We’ve lost touch with him entirely. The only way to find him is to go in on this side of the border. Be part of the corrupt force going to meet them after they cross into the US. I was going to do it, but then,” he gestured irritably at himself.

“It’s a bit out of our jurisdiction, isn't it?” Jason asked suspiciously. “What’s the connection that’s got Dickiebird out there? What’s got you so interested?”

Bruce ignored him, as usual. “If Nightwing has failed in his mission, then you will have to complete it. I will need someone to place trackers on the vehicles carrying the victims or we will lose them.” 

“If something has gone amiss in master Dick's mission, he may need help escaping from whatever situation he has found himself in,” Alfred added, sending a sharp look at Bruce.

Jason sat heavily in the chair Alfred had offered him earlier, feeling suddenly tired right to the bone. This was just so infuriatingly  _ Bruce _ .  The choice of words was revealing to somebody who had spent his formative years looking for all the tells, micro-expressions and nuances that might indicate the emotions behind the cool facade. Failed Mission, Nightwing rather than Dick: fucking mission first  _ bullshit _ .

Bruce was worried sick. And, in typical fashion, seemed be be taking his frustration out on Dick - even through he wasn’t there, and might be suffering who knows what in the hands of the bad guys (or, in fact might have missed check in for some mundane reason like a tech failure  or his coms unit being eaten by a dog – that had only happened once, and it had been a zombie dog, but it kind of suck out in Jason’s memory for being the height of dog-ate-homework ridiculousness). 

God, they were such a bunch of emotionally stunted dumbassess. Even Dick. Sometimes especially Dick, who lied so effortlessly with his big smiles and stupid jokes. 

Jason grit his teeth. “Just give me the facts. What was his mission?  What did he go in as? When? Where? You know the useful things.” Jason waved a hand dangerously close to Bruce as he was being ignored.  “And why you want me to extract him when you have a whole slew of other good little Bats and Birds, and whatever the new kid is supposed to be?”

“Because they have their jobs tracing the victims once the trackers activate. I need someone who is of an appropriate age to go in, ensure the trackers are in place, and to extract Nightwing if he needs it,” Bruce growled the worlds like they were being physically pulled from his chest. 

“Trackers activate? Why don’t they activate now?”

“They have sophisticated tech that blocks the signals.”

“So Dick going dark is hardly a surprise then?” Jason could just feel something was off about all this, the level of suppressed panic just didn’t add up to the situation.

“He was still getting information out.”

“How, by carrier pigeon?”

“By coded message set to the frequency they use – something that we couldn’t have known until he went undercover, and so something we could not plan into the trackers.” 

“Makes sense,” Jason said, calmly. Enjoying how his easy acceptance seem to make Bruce’s teeth grind. “You want to tell me who these guys are now? Any information before you send me to my potential second death?”

Bruce’s eyes flashed dangerously, but once again Alfred stepped in. “If the pair of you could stop antagonising one another, this would be a lot easier,” he said sharply. “Master Jason deserves to hear the details, otherwise how can he be expected to prepare?”

Bruce finally turned to face them, his bruised face set in the cool impassive lines that Jason hated. “The TK Syndicate is a world wide people trafficking operation, not the sort that ‘assist’ in border crossings for money, but the type where the people  _ are  _ the currency. They take migrants, mostly; desperate people easy to con and easy to disappear, but they kidnap people from impoverished areas to fill in any gaps or specific orders.”

“Specific orders? Sounds like your talking about take-out, not people” 

“That’s exactly what it’s like. The wealthy say what they want and the Syndicate find an exact match.”

“So were talking sex slaves?” That feeling of impending disaster that had been building in Jason since this whole painful discussion had begun, got a little worse. 

“Often, yes,” Bruce said tightly. “But slave labour, organs and live bodies to test new drugs are also on the table.”

“And it hasn’t been shut down before this because? Sounds like a big op  for something new.”

Bruce looked momentarily haunted, a fleeting expression, but one that sent a chill down Jason’s spine.  “We tried. Six years ago. The mission went wrong, and they went underground. Moved their operations away from the Americas, to Eastern Europe and Russia mostly. This is the first big action on American soil since then, and the first opportunity we’ve had to get inside the organisation.”

Jason lent forward, trying to read between the lines. He couldn't let go of that brief flash of emotion that had crossed B’s face. It had made him look old for a moment, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. 

Bruce's expression twitched into a scowl, and he finally stopped typing at the computer.  “We haven't even gotten close to finding out who is behind it. Since they came back onto the radar we’ve been playing catch up, rescuing civilians where we can, but we have been completely unable to get in to their operation. They are not recruiting, and nobody's talking. I suspect because they don’t treat traitors kindly – and they are prone to murdering entire families or selling them into slavery.”

“So how’s Dick gone in?”  Jason had a very bad feeling. 

“As a migrant worker trying to make the passage from Mexico to the US. Easy picking for the traffickers and slavers.” Bruce sighed, aggrieved. “I had a place in the border guards set-up. From there I could track where all the victims get sent, and trace them to their buyers. Then we can try to follow the money backwards to whoever is pulling the strings.”

“But you think something's gone wrong? Other than the obvious.” Jason gestured at the body casts.

“It appears so.” 

“B, this is like pulling fucking teeth. What’s got you so twisted up? I thought it was implied that this was time sensitive. If you’re going to just give me dribbles of information, then it’s going to take twice as fucking long.”

Alfred stepped in, of course, absolving Bruce from the need to express himself like a normal human. “As discussed previously, Master Dick has gone quiet. No trackers, no communications. We believe the traffickers are crossing over using a passage through the Sonoarn desert. At the border they will meet up with a section of corrupt border guards. The problem is we won’t know where the meeting will take place without master Bruce in his undercover post.”

“So you want me to take B’s place?”

“Yes. And complete Nightwing’s mission to track the shipments of victims,” Bruce said, without emotion, like that expression of fear and regret had never been.

“And rescue Dick, if he is in trouble.” It wasn’t a question. 

Bruce resumed tapping at the computer, and Alfred pursed his lips. 

The whole thing stank.  If Bruce wanted him to risk his life rescuing Dickwing and save the day, then he had to start being honest or Jason was out of there like his ass was  _ actually  _ on fire. 

“Tell me whatever it is you’re hiding, or I walk.” he said, as the pause in conversation became uncomfortable. 

“Then leave,” Bruce stated, coolly. “If this means so little to you.”

“No, he is quite right, Master Bruce,” Alfred said. He turned to Jason. “Come upstairs and help me with the tea, and I will fill you in on some details.”

It was a clear ploy to get him and Bruce to take a step back from the brewing fight, and Alf was right of course: Dick and the people being trafficked were far more important than a bit of angry posturing. Didn’t mean he had to be graceful about it though.

 

“You going to be straight with me, Alf?” he asked as they made their way up into the house and headed for the kitchen. “I can’t handle his pigheadedness. I just can’t fucking deal with it.”

Alfred sighed as he put the kettle on the hob and prepared a tray with cookies and tea cups. “He’s afraid, you know that.”

“Yeah. What I don’t get is  _ why _ . Going dark on an undercover mission isn’t that unusual – I mean something could have gone horribly wrong, sure. But usually B just expects us to get on with it. He wouldn't panic until after the sale, when everything comes back online, right?”

Alfred watched the kettle in silence for a moment. He looked old and sad and something in Jason's chest ached. He wondered if he had worn that same expression of quiet grief when he had died. Probably. 

“Six years ago, Master Bruce, Master Dick and his young team attempted to infiltrate the Syndicate. It was unsuccessful.”

“Yeah, I got that part, what happened that has B so shaken up?”

“Master Dick was very seriously injured  during the course of the mission. Seriously enough we were honestly afraid he wouldn’t make it, and if he did, he might not be the boy he was.”

“But he  _ did  _ make it, and he’s still smart, annoying and defying gravity on the regular.” 

“Indeed. But ignoring the pain and fear we went through during that time is beneath you, Master Jason.”

Damn, but nobody could make you feel like heel for your bad behaviour like Alfred could. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Alfred gave a satisfied nod and resumed preparing the tray, pouring the water into the pot with a crackling sound as it hit the china. “Master Bruce blamed himself for what happened to Master Dick, and they both felt the weight of the failure to bring down the Syndicate. The victims, and all the others sold since, were lost to either death or a life of servitude.” 

“Dick insisted on going in again didn't he,” Jason said with another sigh. God they were all so  _ predictable _ . 

“Indeed he did.”

“And Bruce didn’t want him too, but eventually capitulated due to a combination of guilt, stubborn anger and puppy dog eyes.”

Alfred's lips slid up into a small, fond smile. “Exactly that. But now Master Bruce's fears appear to be justified.”

“It might be nothing, Alf, he could just have gone dark because he had too, or there was some sort of tech fuck up. These goons must have pretty good security, and have continued and apparently thrived, despite being on The Big Bad Bats radar.”

“I have a bad feeling, Master Jason.”

He wasn’t the only one, and Jason had learned to rely of his hunches and intuition. There was no way he was going to say no to this. He clapped Alfred on the shoulder, before darting in and grabbing the tray before the butler could lift it. “Fine, let’s go back down and you can give me the mission details. I’ll do my best to bite my tongue if he starts being a shit.”

“Language, Master Jason.”

“I said ‘fucking’ earlier and you didn’t call me out.”

“That is because the situation was such that swearing was better than hitting. Now, if we may?”

“After you, Alfie - age before beauty and all that.”  

“You’re incorrigible, Master Jason.” Alfred's face was stern, but his voice held warmth that made Jason’s throat tight. 

“Yup.”

“Come along then, lets go and face him.”

“Ugh.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: angst and murder

 

Jason felt like he was being strangled by the stiff collar of his new work shirt, and the pressed pants and jacket were almost as stifling. He did have to admit a secret love for his hat though; he rocked hats, and this one kept the sun of his face wonderfully. His pale skin was not made for the desert, and the fellow officers travelling from the east coast with him had laughed as he had applied sun-lotion to all exposed skin. Apparently it wasn’t manly or something, though Jason felt a case of lobster face was probably worse for his sense of self than a healthy sun care routine, but whatever. Apart from the snide comments, they seemed like an alright bunch, although none were going to the same unit as he was. He was headed to the furthest post: a crack team, exclusive and Invitation Only, if you asked the other recruits. Corrupt as fuck according to B’s intel, which Jason was inclined to believe more. Bruce might fail in many ways - like being a human, a parent or a crime fighter - but information gathering wasn't one of them.

The desert was hot, unsurprisingly, but the buildings he was to be stationed at were well air conditioned. Which was a good thing as he was kept waiting for an age, sitting in a stark hallway on a plastic chair that creaked alarmingly under his weight, 

For all he trusted B’s sources and his information, it made Jason nervous not to have had the time to do the thorough kind of research he preferred. It put him on edge and, in his opinion, at a disadvantage.

 

“Officer Peters?” 

Jason stood to attention like it was something he was used to doing, his hat tucked under his arm and his collar poking him in the freshly shaved skin of his throat. 

“Sir,” he said, politely. See? He could act nice when he had to. Just about. 

“Come in.” The man at the door waved him through with one hand and then sat himself at a wide wooden desk, adorned with both US and state flags and a name plaque reading: Steve Tate 

“Thank you for joining us, Officer Peters,” Tate said with a small, calculating smile. He was eyeing Jason up with a cool, intently assessing gaze. It made him want to fidget, but he held still and looked back impassively, like a good little soldier. The thought made him feel a little sick, but apparently it was the right thing to do as Tate smiled a little wider and relaxed back into his seat.

“You were highly recommended to us, Officer Peters. We run a tight ship here, but Aaron vouched for you – he tells me you have cast iron balls and know the meaning of loyalty.”

Jason looked at him steadily. Tate was a handsome, square jawed guy in his mid forties. Tall and broad, his muscular form just turning to fat, but despite his growing paunch he looked like he could bench press two of Tim without breaking a sweat. Not someone to take lightly in a fight, Jason suspected.

He decided to go with cool and equally assessing rather than friendly, at least for the first introduction. “Loyalty to my team is paramount to me. Cohesion is what brings success,” he offered, having let his eyes flit over Tate as he spoke. He sat a little straighter, hoping to imply respect for what he had observed. Dick wasn’t the only one well versed in body language.

Tate looked pleased, then smiled with all the sincerity of a shark. “It’s a tough job, Peters. Not for just anyone.”

“Tough is why I’m here, not in one of the easier posts on the Big Bend.”

Tate nodded, satisfied. “We are here to help keep the vermin out, and earn a respectable living. That sit square with you?”

Jason allowed the tiniest smirk to show on his face, “Sure does. Protecting our great nation and saving for my retirement seems like  a win-win situation, and I’ve always been a fan of those.”

Tate’s face became a modicum more friendly, and he slapped a broad hand down on his desk “Good man! We need decent people with a good head on their shoulders and a moral base that fits with the ethos here.”

_ The ethos of being an evil bastard, obviously _ , Jason despised this guy already. 

“Orientation and training at six hundred hours. We’ll get you up to speed working here and ready to tackle the desert by the end of the week.”

Jason nodded curtly.  He fucking  _ hated _ the desert.   
  


Training and early mornings were hardly an issue for the Red Hood. The heat was unpleasant, but also something he could deal with and still perform at a level that impressed his superiors. The people he was working with had been frosty at first, but had soon warmed up to him when he had laughed at their racist jokes, and slapped the guys on the back when they made crude comments about the female officers. The dust and dirt that covered him by the end of the day made the water run a muddy yellow colour, but there wasn’t a shower in the world that could make him feel clean after the company he was forced to keep. He hated undercover work, hated how easily poisonous comments flowed off his tongue, and how he could keep the smile on his face despite the bubbling hate and rage burning under his skin. 

The thought of these shits in jail - maybe sharing a cell with some of the folks they had extorted crossing the border only to arrest them on the other side - was what kept him going, helped him keep up the facade. The thing was, strangely, he was good at this work. He was good at following orders and taking long painfully hot hikes through rough terrain. He was a city boy, much more used to skyscrapers and gargoyles than open country, but the desert sky at night made his chest ache with its beauty. He didn’t enjoy the actual  _ job,  _ mind: finding desperate people in the wasteland just trying to reach a new life, a dream that might not have ended how they had been hoping, but one they would never have the chance to find out if it  _ could _ have been.  In a strange way, Jason could relate to that. 

But for all that, Jason could see himself doing something like this. Search and rescue perhaps, rather than search and arrest. In another life maybe. And preferably somewhere a little cooler, for all its stark beauty, the Sonoran was hotter than the devil’s asshole. 

That, and the fact that excessive sun gave Jason freckles. He hated those almost as much as the way his hair curled with sweat after a days work, and it seemed no amount of product could tame it.    
  


In the week and a half since his arrival, it had almost become routine; comfortable, during the times he wasn’t forced into proximity with Tate and his ilk, but there had been barely a whisper to him about the upcoming deal. Either B’s Intel was actually for shit, which he doubted, or he just wasn’t trusted yet. That was worrying, what if they didn’t take him along? What if the victims (and Dick) were lost because of it? He had done his best to integrate himself but, apart from the unpleasant camaraderie he had achieved, he was still clueless.

He was starting to suffer significant anxiety about it, even considering taking some of his stash of pills to help him sleep. The pills weren’t a new thing, and he was self aware enough to understand his limits. Anxiety and rage versus reaction time and clear headedness – it was a fucking fine line to dance across, especially when he was on a mission – but dealing with people trackers was kind of a hot button for him and he knew that it might have to come to a point where he had to take the edge off in order to get the job done. Bruce would flip if he knew, but Jason understood himself better than the old man ever had.

In the end he opted against the pills, and decided he would give it a few more days before taking some sort of action. So when Tate had finally called him in to his office, he felt relief and jittery excitement.  Tate had said ‘Fancy joining me and Hale on a trip to the edge? Got word there’s a desert rat problem in the south.’

Jason had agreed, so glad to finally have what he hoped was a lead.  In retrospect, he should have planned better;  _ Bruce  _ should have planned better. Later on, Jason wanted desperately to blame him but, when it came down to it, it was no ones fault but his own.   
  


They rode out in the jeep.  The sun was hot, the air was still, and the desert felt like a lake made of heat and sand, quiet and tame to look at, but with dangerous undercurrents. Tate seemed watchful although Hale was cracking off colour jokes as always. There was an atmosphere of excitement, from which Jason was excluded, but he was feeling pumped with adrenaline for his own reasons, twitching and sweating in his bullet proof vest and patrol gear. His gun was a comforting weight on his belt, alongside his baton and his taser. It wasn’t Bat Level, but it was still familiar and reassuring. 

“Do we have a destination in mind,” he asked, as they turned away from the route they usually took out on patrol. They were travelling further into the desert, off roading between narrow dusty tracks.

“We do,” Tate said, with what seemed to be a carefully casual tone. “Officer Ellis is already there, and he’s caught us some rodents.”

Jason knew, objectively, that there was a 20% chance his cover had been blown, and they were planning to take him to the desert to shoot him. but he didn’t feel trepidation run up his spine until he saw the small smirk on Tate’s face – it looked wrong somehow, like he had a secret Jason wasn’t going to like. He adjusted the mirror so he could look to the back seat and check out Hale’s expression too. It was not encouraging; Hale’s eyes were alight with anticipation, his body practically vibrating with excitement. There was a new tension in the air and it made Jason feel adrenaline spike through his body, his vision becoming focused and his stomach tight. Something was definitely up.

 

“Here we go” Tate said, pulling off the road and next to Ellis’s car, smeared with dust and bugs from his trip ahead of them. 

Ellis met them with a grim look. “Sorry, one of these assholes was armed, I had to take ‘em down.”

A young man lay sprawled at his feet in a large pool of blood. In front of him, another man lay bleeding from the leg and gut, his broad face was lined with pain and fear, as dark blood seeped from between his fingers as he held his midsection.   

His eyes were pleading and full of grief when they met Jason’s, but he didn’t bother to beg. 

Tate handed Jason a gun, not his usual piece but a small, powerful revolver. “Finish him off. Put him down like the vermin he is.”

Jason held the gun, a familiar weight that was comforting in his palm, despite the alarm pinging over his skin like a rash.  Time seemed to slow down as he looked the man over; He was covered in dirt, face streaked with dust and tears, and there were cactus spines in his arm and leg, piercing his pants and adding to the shades of red staining his clothes. His arm under the spikes looked reddened and puffy from infection. That was probably why these two had been out here alone - he had been slowing and sick, and the Coyote guiding them had moved on without them. Perhaps the younger man had been his son, and that’s why he had held back with him, and was now dead in a ditch far from home. 

The air felt still and full, like the turmoil in Jason’s mind was gathering outside him. He looked at the dark blood from the gut wound, how it was steadily pumping from under the man’s hand. With an air ambulance arriving right now, he probably had a 15% to 20% chance. Odds Jason would take in Gotham, on his own turf. But out here everything was stacked against them; even if they called in help right now, he might not make it in time. It would take precious minutes to scramble a ‘Copter, to get here, miles away from the nearest station. 10% chance he would be alive when the ambulance reached them. 5% or less he would live to see the hospital. 

To get that help, Jason would have to kill the three officers, snag a radio and make the call. And even that wouldn’t be easy and would eat up precious minutes – due to their current locations, he could probably take two of the three down quick, but that third would be able to get to cover, making it impossible to get a radio until he was also dead.  And after that, they were down to 2%-5% chance of being alive for the airlift. 2%-0% for being alive at touchdown. 

And Jason’s cover would be blown to hell. The victims, and Dick, might be beyond help. 

A 2% chance of the man living vs the possibility of all those people lost to a living hell. Of losing Dick, of losing all the people Dick might save were he to live for the next few years. 

For a brief frantic moment he wondered what Bruce would do; something quick and clever? Would he sacrifice Dick and the victims for his morals? Or would he have been prepared, somehow?  He wouldn't stand here lost in his own head figuring out statistics. 

Logically, Jason knew what he should do. But if he did it, he would lose something of himself. Whatever B said, he  _ wasn’t _ a murderer. He didn’t kill innocents for his own gain or any other reason. He didn’t give up on people because they only had a slim chance. He should have planned for this – of course there was going to be a loyalty test – he just didn't think it would be  _ this _ .

Seconds had ticked by, the gun was going hot in his palm. He watched the man’s chest heave with each laboured breath, as his life blood continued to seep through his fingers, black and thick. The guy probably had ten, maybe fifteen, painful minutes left in him. 

That didn't stop what Jason was about to do from being murder.  He said a silent prayer to a god he no longer believed in, and looked the man in the eye. He etched his features into his brain, every expression of hopeless pain and grief. When this was done, Jason would find his name, his family, and bring them news of his fate. Maybe get some justice for him, one way or another. 

Decision made,  Jason raised the gun, no hesitation, and shot him in the head. The man fell back into the dirt, next to his younger companion. 

Jason stared at the body, the sound of shot was ringing strangely though his ears. It wasn't like he hadn't shot people before. Like he hadn't seen their brains spread out on the dirt like this unnamed guy’s. It wasn't like he hadn't sometimes  _ enjoyed _ putting some of those people down, making them piss themselves in fear before he put a bullet in their skull. 

This was different. So very different he could hardly get his head around the way he was feeling.

“Good job Peters!” Tate startled him with a slap on the shoulder, nearly gaining himself a face full of lead. “For a moment I thought you’d bottle it.”

“Nah,” Jason said, forcing his face to make an expression. He wasn’t sure what it was, but Tate seemed to approve and gave him another hearty back slap. 

“You ever shot a man like that before, head on?”

“First time,” Jason’s voice sounded distant to his  own ears, like he was whispering in a vast cavern rather than standing in a dusty patch of rock and dirt under the sky.

“It’s quite a rush, isn’t it?” Hale seemed excited by the corpses on the floor.

“Sure is.” Jason said.  He needed a pill, something to take the edge off before he exploded and wasted the choice he had made with a violent outburst. He couldn't allow this man’s death at his hand to be for nothing. 

“Well, Peters, now we’ve got that out of the way, we can get to the good stuff. How do you feel about getting rich?”

“I never say no to the idea of cashing in on a good thing,” he said. “What’s the deal?”

“We have some clients, who like to move certain cargo across the border. They do a few jobs, up and down this route, but mostly they do livestock, understand?” 

“Yeah, I think I get the picture. We let them pass and get a cut?” 

“Something like that. Trust me, the money's good.  There are other perks too. Some of the delivery are hand picked for sale to certain people who pay for  _ very _ specific things – but there are always some left over, headed to less prestigious ends for a bit of extra cash. We can have first bash at them, before they get sent on. “

“Sounds like a double win, and you know I like those.”

Hale grinned and gave Jason his own shoulder slap. “The trick is to get them young – virgins, or near to it. Then you won’t catch something nasty.”

Jason thought about ripping Hale’s dick off and nailing it to his forehead. He thought about the grief in the wounded man’s eyes before he pulled the trigger, the loss and the impotent anger. He wondered if he could ever actually forgive Bruce, or Dick, for sending him on this fucking mission. He was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Dick finally makes his appearance, and everything goes to hell in a hand -basket.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for how late this fic is - I am the slowest writer in the world. >.<
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: brief non graphic attempted non-con of a minor, murder, lots of murder. And ansgt. 
> 
> (Shout out to Sharon for betaing my dyslexic nonsense on her phone!)

Jason hadn't been sleeping. It was stupid to be so fucked up by something he had done countless times before, and it wasn't like he was morally opposed to killing people - far from it - but they were people he had judged to be  _ bad _ . People who deserved a bullet to the brain; people who  _ deserved _ to be unceremoniously dumped in a shallow grave out in the middle of nowhere. 

Perhaps that man had been a criminal. Perhaps he had been running from the law and was making his way to the US to escape justice. He  _ could _ have been, but Jason's attempts to rationalise what he had done kept falling flat. The fact was, he didn't know - and the likelihood was that had just been a guy trying to find a better life. 

And Jason had shot him and all the possibilities he'd had in his future were over. 

Logically, he knew that it wasn't exactly his fault, that his choice had been made for the right reasons. Furthermore he knew that if circumstances had been different he would have done everything he could to save the man. He knew that it was Tate who had effectively decided he would die. He also knew that he had done it to save other people, and their dreams and possibilities.

But logic, it seemed, didn't mean shit when you had done something you felt guilty about and Jason still couldn't get the expression on the man's face out of his mind: the hopeless grief – for the younger man, for the impending loss of his own life and everything he still had left to do.

It was crushing him,  and forcing him into a level of introspection he was very uncomfortable with. He had  always thought himself morally superior to Bruce and Dick and all the other hypocrites who let the bad guys live to hurt more innocents. Who ignored those critically injured in the crossfire, or the henchmen, often desperate people with family to feed,  who ended up brain dead or crippled in jail. But perhaps Jason had never let himself look at the damage  _ he _ was causing – he had been convinced that in admitting he did those things and acknowledging the true cost of his own actions,  he was somehow better.

Turns out he wasn't. And perhaps it was that selfish knowledge that was twisting him up in the guts and making him toss and turn at night. 

Sleepless nights aside, he was being treated like one of the team now. He did alright, keeping up appearances for a day or two, with the assistance of a few of his stash of pills. They kept the explosion of fury at bay, because as always, behind the feelings of despair and guilt was the burning green rage. 

The pills were necessary, even if they slowed his reaction time. As long as he knew his limits, which he did, then he would be fine. 

Hopefully. 

Eventually, after what felt like an age, Tate called a meeting in which he announced they would be heading out in only twelve hours time. It would be a long excursion,  and they should pack light. 

_ Finally _ some sort of action, and not a moment to soon, Jason could feel himself ready to blow. 

 

Before they set out, he called Alfred. He didn't want to speak to him with the image of the dead man still lurking behind his eyes, but it would be worse to talk to Bruce, so Alf it had to be. 

Mobiles had been confiscated the night before, and Jason suspected his gear had been swept for bugs. They weren't taking any chances. Luckily his trackers were all stashed safely with the latest Bat-Tech protection -Jason wasn't taking any chances either. Still, it meant the only way to contact the outside world was by pay phone, people were permitted to use them to touch base with their families and loved ones before heading out for long patrols. They were obviously bugged, but it was completely normal to use them before a long trip out to the desert, or at the return of one. 

Jason used a finger to check for change in the coin box as he waited for Alfred to pick up, it was a habitual thing, from the days an extra quarter or spare dime might be the difference between food or another hungry night. 

It was Alfred's special phone, the one set up to look like it was in the UK – where he didn't answer as the butler of Wayne Manor, but as a middle class English gent enjoying his retirement.

“Hello?”

“Hi Gramps,” Jason said, really letting the New Jersey twang hang all out in his accent. “How’s it?”

“How many times have I had to request you avoid the use of ‘Gramps’ when speaking to me? If you must abbreviate, then Grandpa is a perfectly acceptable option.”

Despite himself, Jason smiled. It was a familiar argument – although it was usually about using Alf or Alfie. He really needed that little flush of warmth. He was buzzing with doubt and nerves as a result. Alfred was grounding, unflappable.

“Nah,” he drawled, accent so thick it was a barely decipherable as a world.

“You remain a reprobate,” Alfred sighed affectionately. “May I take it from this call you are about to embark on a long patrol?” Always on the ball.

“Yeah, shouldn't be more than a week, maybe five days, I'll give you a call when I'm back.”

“Do you know where you're headed?” Alfred sounded mildly curious, like he was just making casual conversation. 

“Not really, east probably.” They were going south west, further into the Sonoran . But he trusted Alfred to pick up on the fact he would have to lie, and then listen for the clues as to the real direction. “It's just routine, but it might be a few days till I can get to a phone. Receptions shit out there.”

“Language,"

“Sorry Gramps, my brain's a little burnt out. It's hotter than that summer we spent in Florida out here, but dryer. Hated that deep south humidity.”

“Indeed, clearly the south coast is out, so, have you decided you prefer the West to the East then? Will you finally find somewhere to settle or will you remain in the dusty wasteland?” 

“Wasteland? So dramatic. It's not that bad, but I think I would miss the city, I was out here too long.”

“You young people are never satisfied unless it's New York or LA, are you?” He sounded every inch the exasperated Granddad he sort of kind of was. 

“Yeah California is where it's at for me, I like the West Coast. LA or San-Fan. Even you might like it there – seeing how you live in a land of rain and fog.”

“I will have you know its 33 degrees here in Norfolk. It's insufferable.”

“What's that in Fahrenheit, Gramps? You know I don't know the British shi...stuff.”

“Did your father teach you nothing of your great British heritage?”

“Got me hooked on weird tea and Brit-chocolate. That's about it.”

“A disgrace,” Alfred said, affectionately. “Especially the fact you drink Earl Grey with milk.”

“ _ Shamelessly _ .”

They chatted a little more. Jason passing what information he knew, and Alfred soothing his frazzled mind with fond sarcasm. It helped him centre himself for what was to come.  He still took one and a half pills before they hit the road; he felt like he was going to need it.   
  


As the most junior member of the team, Jason was mostly required to do grunt work, and keep watch over the perimeter once the 'cargo' and the trucks arrived. That gave him plenty of opportunity to place the trackers on each of the vehicles. So far, so good. If Dick was fine, and had been able to complete his side of things, there should be similar trackers set and ready amongst the victims and the perps themselves; Jason's truck bugs were just the back up. 

He was shocked by the scale of the operation. It seemed they were moving dozens of people in one go – perhaps close to seventy. That was a huge and risky process, but they clearly thought it was worth it, or perhaps that they were completely under the radar this time. Jason had to wonder who was the mastermind behind it, as the man power, the bribes and the technology they were using to overcome the sensors and drones that kept watch when people couldn't, must generate costs that cut into the profits. Perhaps something  _ else _ was the true pay off?

Trackers in place, it was time to hunt for Dick. Bruce had told him he was most likely to be amongst the  men heading for slave labour or organ 'donation'. He said that Dick had a plan that meant he would be kept alive until the sale, no matter what. He had of course been very vague on the details - perhaps because Dick himself had been vague, or more likely, because he was Bruce and a compulsive arsehole. 

Even so, that was the first place Jason checked.  Most were Mexican and Central American migrants, but a few were European or North American. Jason spotted one young man, a college student, who had been reported missing from Southern Texas three months ago. This organisation really was fucking global and Jason was extremely glad they were going to put a stop to it. He was less glad to see that Dick wasn't among them – this didn't come as a  _ complete _ surprise. Both Bruce and Dick seemed to be a little short sighted when it came to Dick himself. They saw a healthy fit young man who was very capable of pulling his weight and working hard under stress, ergo; slave labour seemed the natural place for him to end up. 

Jason saw him differently. Even his more imperfect features were attractive; his mouth was a little too wide, some of his eyebrow hairs stuck up at a weird angle, like a tiny cowlick, (not that Jason had been staring) and most of his facial expressions made him look extremely stupid - but he was still beautiful despite that;  _ because _ of it, even. Not that many of the other boys and men Jason had seen in the camp hadn't been just as handsome. It wasn't just looks – it was the way he was inside his own skin, the grace and the ease in his movements, his charisma. And yeah okay, maybe Jason was a little biased,  and may have been slightly jealous over the years, but he was pretty sure you asked anybody that had ever met Dick Grayson and the answer would have been the same. Even the people who hated his guts – of which there were many, because not only was he a do-gooding vigilante, he was also a colossal asshole sometimes.

But, personality flaws aside, if anyone was looking to buy an attractive young man, they would choose Dick. Confident in his deductions, Jason made his way towards the smaller group of men and boys heading to brothels and private buyers. There were kids as young as eight or nine and Jason could feel the bile rising in his throat. Why the fuck did Bruce get him to do this? It was hard in the moment, to see it as an act of trust, or even desperation, it felt like a punishment. 

And Dick wasn't there. 

That left precious few options. Dick's overwhelming need to help people was both a weakness and a strength and might have finally got him dead.  _ He _ would never have shot that man in the desert, because he was so much stronger than Jason, but he would have probably have ended up dead in the ditch right next to him, because he was so much weaker too.

It was likely then, that Bruce had been right, that it had all gone to hell because Dick couldn't control himself when faced with those in distress – it was probably what had happened in the last mission too, but this time he was probably rotting in the desert. Jason felt a moment of complete overpowering panic, all the emotion he had been stamping down over the shooting, all the rage and buried fear the sight of those kids had roused in him. It all swept up like a wave crashing into him with a force that shock him to the core and threatened to drag him under. 

“Eat shit!”

The cry was high, angry and terrified, and it snapped Jason out of what felt like a tsunami of anxiety and fear.  He cast about for the source of it and spotted Ellis dragging a struggling girl, no older than fifteen, towards the cover of a rocky outcrop. Others had turned towards the sound too, but they shrugged it off and went back to their work. Apparently it was time for some of the officers to take the rest of their 'rewards'.   

This, Jason could stop. No matter his past choices, no matter what had happened to Dick, he could save this girl; for now, at least. 

Like the son of the Bat he was, even after everything, he melted back into the shadows and circled around to where Ellis was trying to wrestle the girl down – she wasn't going easy. For a moment Jason saw the eyes of the man he had killed again, for a second of doubt, then he blinked it away and drew his knife. He slid out of the darkness and stabbed Ellis in the neck with a smooth thrust that was perfectly angled so the arterial spray missed both him and the girl. 

As Ellis's grip spasmed, the girl broke free, and Jason had to leap after her before she took off into the desert. 

“Fuck off, bastard!” she spat in accented Spanish. Not Mexican, perhaps from further south? 

“I'm not going to hurt you, I killed that piece of shit didn't I?” he said in the same language, and he gave the corpse a kick for emphasis. 

She didn't seem impressed and continued to struggle, he held her as firm as he could, ashe didn't want to hurt her, but at the same time he didn't want to lose her out in the wilderness either.  “Please, I'm trying to help, I'm trying to help all of you. We have people ready to stop the trucks, but if you run off now, they wont be able to find you – and you will die out here this time of year. Do you think I need your cooperation to stick you back on the truck? I don't. But I don't want to do that if I don't have to.”

She paused, considering. He wasn't lying, that's for sure - it wasn't like anyone not part of the operation could hear her screams, and it wasn't going to be to strange to see him dragging a girl around. It was what he was being employed to do.

“Let me go.”

“I can't. I want you to live, and they only way we can make that happen is for you to get back on the truck.”

“What if they don't come? The other police?”

“We're not exactly police, we don't exactly work within the law. But we  _ are _ going to help you.” 

She studied him carefully, weighing her options. Then gave a small nod. 

Jason loosened his grip slightly, until the hand on her arm was more comfort than restraint. “I promise someone will come for you. My...” he hesitated to say boss, but it was what would make sense. “My boss doesn't half-ass things. He'll be there, him or our family. You're the only one who will know what's happening. Say nothing until things kick off – then explain, keep people calm and get them out of the line of fire. Can you do that?”

“Yes. I can do that.” She gave a shaky inhale and visibly  straightened her shoulders. 

Jason didn't doubt it. Despite the tear tracks on her dirty face she had that steely, determined anger behind the her eyes that he recognised. He'd seen it in the mirror enough times.

“If I do this, will you do something for me?” She asked quietly.

“Yeah, if I can.”

“Kill them. Kill them all like you did this...  _ bastard _ .” She gave Ellis a vicious kick that must have hurt her bare feet. 

“I will. And then when it's over, I'll find you, and I will make sure you are okay. The system here is fucked, but I have contacts that can help make things easier – for the others too. What's your name?”

“Ana Trejo. Don't forget it.” 

“I won't, Ms Trejo. I'm Jason - tell that to any of the stupidly dressed folks who rescue you, they will help if I'm not there.”

She nodded, still doubtful.

“One last thing, Ms Trejo. I'm looking for someone. my foster brother. He's about my age, a little older; black hair, pretty face, talks a lot of shit, a bit of a martyr. Would take a bullet or a beating for pretty much anyone. Any ideas?”

“You mean Ricky?”

Only Dick _fucking_ Grayson could be recognised  from that description. “Yeah, that would be him,” Jason sighed. “Know where he is?”

She shook her head. “He got in trouble with the guards, trying to help people they were hurting. With the big boss guy too. They beat him and took him away - not out of the camp though, I think.”

“Thank you, Ms Trejo. I owe you one.”

She gave him a tentative smile and he returned it with one of his own.  
  


Putting the girl back on the truck had been hard – if anything happened to her between now and rescue, assuming the rescue happened at all, then it would be on his conscience. To be honest, he was getting a bit sick of feeling guilty about shit, but it wasn't a feeling he was able to control.

Jason made his way carefully around the guards and the stragglers. If Dick had been taken away by the 'big boss guy' then he was most likely being kept separate. A few tents had been hastily erected close to the perimeter and they had the most guards milling around. They seemed to be being used by the senior officers, and a few of the brokers that had come to collect for the special buyers. On a whim, he decided to check those first. 

On his second try, he found Dick, and the rush of relief was almost enough to sweep him under again. It was clear Bruce's fears had been correct, as Dick was hogtied on the floor in nothing but blood stained shorts and a t-shirt. He had what looked like fresh burns on the souls of his feet and did not appear to be conscious. 

Jason tramped down the rush of anger and fear that threatened him again, and checked for a pulse. Strong and steady, just knocked out or drugged then. He set to work loosening the bonds, and was relieved to see Dick's eyelids flutter at his touch. “Hey there, Dickface,” he said, softly. “Hang on just a sec.” 

“I'll be out in fifteen, they we can hit the road,” A man's voice said from just outside the tent.

Jason stopped what he was doing and darted for the shadows of something that on closer inspection, appeared to be crates – of the sort one put dogs in or, apparently, hog-tied prisoners. Lovely.

He didn't recognise the man that stepped into the tents interior, but he did recognise the expression on his face: cruel desire – for sex, for blood, for someone else's pain - and Jason's blood started pumping in response, making the pulse in his head ring like it was trying to beat out of his skull. 

“Some alone time at last, you little cunt,” the man said, touching the side of his own face, where there was a bruise and what might have been a bite mark. “I owe you one.” He approached with intent, and drew out a small telescopic baton. “Don't need your arms and legs where you're going, just what's on the inside. Shame I can't take your eyes too.” He gave Dick a kick between his spread legs, making him grunt. “Wakey, wakey.”

Jason winced. That kick must have hurt, but at least Dick was conscious enough to feel it - dragging him comatose through the desert would not have been fun. 

The man touched one of Dick's burned feet in a deceptively gentle caress. “Lots of bits they don't need. Lots of things we could do together, bitch.” 

That upset Jason in a way the threats of violence hadn't. He couldn't tell if it was lust or straight up sadism and he didn't care. The darkness swallowed him for a moment. There were flashes – blood on his blade, the man's surprised face – it wasn't a clean kill like Ellis had been, and the guy thrashed, knocking Jason off balance. He tripped over Dick in the scuffle, landing partly on top of him. Another wave of darkness, another flash; hands scrabbling at him. Jason had stabbed the guy in the throat, he was sure of that, so how was he still alive?  He tried to twist so he could drive the knife home again when he suddenly felt sharp pain in his arm. Teeth. He twisted the other way instead and saw the blank staring eyes of the man who had been trying to hurt Dick looking at him across the small space, very dead. He realised it was  _ Dick _ chewing on his arm like a terrier with a rat, one hand free, holding the knife away from him and growling like an animal. 

_ Fuck.  _ He reined himself back under control with a huge effort _.  _ “Dick, it's me. Stand down, I'm okay,” he said, but inside he was reeling. He had nearly  _ stabbed _ him. What the fuck was even happening in his head that he would fuck up so hugely?

Dick didn't stand down, and continued to attack him, struggling against the bonds that Jason hadn't had time to loosen yet.  Jason realised he wasn't the only one to have gotten lost in his own head to the point of losing the plot. There wasn't time to fuck around - God only knew what noise they had been making. He wrenched himself away, prising Dick off his arm and then reached down to grab his face and bring it close. “Nightwing,  _ Dickie, _ it's Jason. Mission’s over, everything is done. We just need to extract ourselves, okay? Dick?” 

Sense slowly came back into Dick's eyes and he took a few ragged breaths. “Jason?” he had blood smeared on his lips and teeth.  _ Jason's _ blood. It was strangely mesmerising.

“Yeah, buddy. You with me now?” 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dick's voice held a slight tremble from the confusion and adrenaline. 

“Rescuing your sorry ass, obviously.” Jason used his knife to cut the rest of the bindings and winced again at the pain on Dick's face as his limbs fell free of their awkward position. 

“Didn't need rescuing, I had it.” Dick was steadily working on getting blood flow and movement back to his extremities despite his sorry state. Got to love that training, kicked in no matter what got thrown at them. 

“Are you serious right now? You  _ had _ it? Two more minutes and at best that guy would have been breaking limbs. At worst he would be breaking limbs, then..”  he left it hanging, he couldn't quite bring himself to put words to the type of lust that had been in the man's face.

Dick's eyes swivelled towards the corpse on the floor, and oh  _ awesome.  _ Ob vious 'murder' was obvious. But he didn't say anything, just stared blankly at it. That was very out of character for someone who was usually so gung-ho with flinging around his holier than thou attitudes towards Jason's rather terminal methods of dealing with criminals. 

Before either of them could figure out what to say, shouting broke out in the camp, yells of anger and alarm. For a moment Jason thought maybe it was rescue, but there was no gunfire or sounds of fighting, so they couldn't risk waiting. “Time to make a break for it,” Jason said heading for the back of the tent, his bloodstained knife drawn. 

Dick was still looking at the corpse without any expression, but time was ticking, so Jason left him too it, cutting a thin line in the canvas to make their escape. 

Without warning the front of the tent flew open and Tate stepped inside. “Ken, stop fucking with your prize and get out here. Someone murdered Ellis!” 

Whoops. Looked like Jason hadn't hidden the body well enough in his flustered state. He was kind of leaving a bloody trail of them in this fuck-up of a fuck-up of a mission. 

Tate took in the scene in a moment: body, blood, freed prisoner, Jason covered in gore and chopping up the tent. Then with reflexes that were very on point, he raised his gun and let off a series of shots, Jason tried to doge, but the man was fucking good, and adjusted his aim accordingly. One bullet clipped his side and another hit his shoulder, the blow knocking him backwards and out of the gash he had made in the tent. He saw a blur of movement as he fell, and  heard a series of muffled yells and grunts as he lay dazed, looking at the stars in the desert sky. 

Then Dick staggered out, clutching Tate's gun. “Jay? How bad?” he asked, and Jason took his offered hand and hauled himself to his feet with his good arm. 

“I'm okay, mostly flesh wounds I think. How hard you hit him? How long is our head start?” He said through gritted teeth, flesh wound or not, that last shot had hit bone, it  _ hurt _ .

“Dunno, not really back to full strength. Hard enough to take him out,  but maybe not hard enough to keep him out for long.” 

Jason grabbed at him again, hauling him into an awkward, jarring jog. “We better start running then, wonder boy.”

Beside him, Dick clenched his jaw and ran. 

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to chop this chapter in half because it was becoming unwieldy. Lets Just pretend the chapter count isn't rising.

They ran for what felt like hours, each second causing jarring agony to zigzag through Jason's body. His hip and shoulder were pounding in time with his feet hitting the dusty, rocky ground, until there was nothing but him and the pain.  It wasn’t a smooth run either; the terrain rose and fell, with craggy outcrops and ditches strewn with debris and spiky, mean-looking plant life. The only other thing he was aware of was Dick by his side, gasping and staggering with his own discomfort.

They couldn't keep up the pace for much longer - it was only a matter of time until one of them dropped. Jason was wondering if he would be first when he saw Dick fall to his knees after a particularly bad stumble. Vaguely surprised, Jason tried to drag him up, knowing that if he stopped he probably wouldn't be able to start again, but Dick’s efforts to rise just saw him falling back into the dusty ground. After a moment of panting contemplation, he rolled back onto his ass.

“I can’t, Jay. Just give me a second.” He was pale and sweating in the predawn light, and his body was shaking slightly. “Do we have anything to wrap my feet?” he asked. “Then maybe I can go again.”

With horror, Jason suddenly remembered the burns. How the fuck had he run for so long, and over this ground?  “Shit, Dick! Why didn't you say something earlier?”

Dick just looked at the sand. There was something going on with him that Jason felt he’d not quite grasped. Dick running on blooded and burned feet wasn't a shock - he was tenacious to the point of stupidity and was willing to push himself to ridiculous lengths for the mission - but there were other small out-of-character things going on that were triggering little alarms in Jason's head. They couldn’t worry about that now, though. He looked around them, hunting for a better place to stop than this exposed space.

“Let’s head to those rocks. In two hours this place is going to be baking, and we’ll need shelter. We don’t have supplies, so we can’t afford to sweat more than we have to.”

Dick nodded and Jason hoisted him upright. “Put your weight on me, and walk on the sides of your feet if you can.” The fact that Dick did as he was told without argument was testament to the amount of discomfort he was in. The extra weight pounded and burned in Jason’s hip as they slowly made there way up the slight incline to the large boulders. Their huge shapes towered above them in a strangely comforting mass as they approached. At the base, they found a small indent that would help shield them from the worst of the sun.

Dick flopped down and Jason took a moment to try to lower himself carefully to the ground. _Fuck_ he hurt.  “So, what have we got?” he asked with a wince, as he finally sat down.

“Shorts, t-shirt, gun.” Dick checked the chamber. “Four bullets. You”?

Jason ran a quick assessment in his head and checked his pockets. “Socks, shoes, pants, shorts, under-shirt, over-shirt. Lost my fucking hat.”

Dick smiled, a tiny exhausted twitch of his lips. “Aww, was it a nice hat?”

“I liked it. Kept the sun off my face and made me look awesome.” He sighed, not even faking his sadness at the loss. “Right, weapons; I have a small multi tool, a baton...” he trailed off as he felt along his belt carefully. “Lost my big knife and my gun. Got a spare clip though, hopefully same calibre as yours. A tazer, one charge.” He winced as he leant forward towards his boot. “And one small boot knife,” he concluded.

Dick eyed the knife, a curved four inch blade. “That’s a small boot knife? How big’s a big one?”

Jason ignored him and began carefully examining his pockets and belt.

Dick sighed. “So what other things of use do we have? Don’t suppose you have a canteen of water stashed away?”

“I do, but it’s only half full. I gave a drink to a girl I rescued - wasn’t intending to hare off into the desert. Other than that I have a fire starting kit, a small torch, a communicator that doesn’t work.” And two pills, but he didn’t mention that. “I guess we could count my boot laces too.”

“Great. It could be worse, I suppose.”  

“It could be a shit ton better too. We need water, and some way to clean that mess.” Jason gestured to Dick's feet.

“I’m trying not to think about it,” Dick admitted. “There’s no chance it’s not going to get infected and we can’t risk using the water without a reliable source.”

“Yeah. Luckily I have just recently been treated to a week of training on surviving in adverse desert conditions.” Jason tiredly heaved himself back to his feet. He wobbled alarmingly for a moment before he forced his legs to lock.

Dick frowned up at him. “Let’s bandage you up before you go staggering off looking for water or bugs or whatever. You just got shot!”

“Twice. Yeah, I noticed. But I’ll need something for that too. Just give me a few minutes.” Jason looked around, there was a collection of brush, dried foliage and sun bleached sticks around the eastern edge of the bolder, perhaps deposited there from a long ago flash flood.

“Twice? Jason, get your ass over here and let me look at the wounds!”

Jason ignored Dick's aggravated demands and staggered over to the pile of debris. He bent down with a pained gasp and selected a long gnarled stick from some unidentifiable tree. It wasn’t quite long enough to be comfortably used as a walking stick, but it might work for Dick. Either way, it would do for what he intended.  

Taking a deep breath against the pain he followed the edge of the bolder, looking for plant life. The Sonoran was hot, dusty, rocky and frequently inhospitable, but it was also a desert that was teaming with life. Lots of plants grew and thrived and presumably lots of wildlife lived off them, and each other. If he wasn’t stuck out here and feeling like he had been short and then run over by a truck, it would be quite amazing. As it was, he just wanted a shower, a drink of cold water and his bed.  

His luck finally seemed to be turning and he found what he was looking for just around the bend; Prickly pear.  The fruits weren't quite ripe, but they would still be edible, and contained enough water to stave off dehydration for another day. But the pads of the plant were just as good for a find – they allegedly had medicinal properties that could be used to treat wounds. The only problem was the prickly part.  Thankfully, he had his trusty stick..

 

Twenty minutes later, sweating and starting to feel the heat of the early morning sun, Jason carried back his prize wrapped in his shirt – and with only minor injuries from de-prickling the plant.

“You bastard.” Dick said, by way of greeting.

“Well that’s gratitude for you,” Jason grumbled as he gingerly lowered himself back to the ground.

“Gratitude? You just left without even telling me what you were doing!”

He hated working with Dick. He was a worse control freak than even Jason was – though at least Jason didn’t force his issues on others. “Sorry,” he said insincerely. “Let’s take a look at your feet.”

“Gunshot wounds trump feet. Get your shirt off.”

Jason tried out a grin, but he didn’t quite manage it. “Not even going to buy me dinner first? Rude.”

Dick's face was set and he didn’t respond to the pathetic attempt to lighten the mood so Jason sighed and complied, awkwardly pulling his under-shirt over his head. Dick shuffled forward and began poking at the wound in Jason's hip.

“Oww! You fucking hack! That’s a hole in my side - it hurts when you jab it!”

“Sorry,” Dick said, with about as much sincerity as Jason had shown earlier. He didn’t ease up, either, making the wound start bleeding sluggishly again, “Got to try and flush the sand out. I think there might be cloth in it too.”

“Great. So the choice is leave it in, or stick your dirty fingers in and dig it out? Both options suck.”

“If we can bring it closer to the surface, I can maybe get it without getting more crap in the wound.”

Jason left him too it and began carefully cutting apart the pads of the prickly pear. “Some native tribes used to use this as a poultice for wounds and snake bites. Figured it’s worth a shot. Probably cleaner than a bandage made out of anything we’re wearing.”

His ministrations complete to his satisfaction, Dick took the pad and placed it on the wound, using a strip of under-shirt to hold it in place. “Let’s look at the shoulder next.”

If the hip had hurt like a bitch under Dick’s less-than-tender care, the shoulder was _way_ worse.  
  


Finally bandaged and able to get his breath back, Jason finally managed to wrestle one of Dick's feet away from him and into his own lap with Dick complaining the whole time.  Jason was so done with it. “Just let me fucking do it!” he snapped. “I don’t care how bendy you are, my angle’s better and I can see what I’m doing!”

Dick fell sullenly silent and while Jason did his best to clean up the mess on the soles of his feet. The burns had opened into inflamed sores and the sand and rock had cut the undamaged parts badly. How had he been running on this? Batshit crazy, in only the way their family seemed to be able to manage. Dick was finally silent, while he worked, jaw clenched against the pain, and muscles twitching under Jason's hands. The quiet was unnerving and Jason sort of wished he was still arguing or cussing him out.

When he was done he carefully wrapped the wounds with prickly pear and more under-shirt. It wasn’t going to be enough to protect him. Jason wiped the sticky sap over his skin as he considered. It was supposed to work as a mild sunscreen too.  “Do you want my shoes?” he offered after a moment. “That might help a little.”

Dick eyed up his combat boots. “They’re too big, I’m going to be unsteady enough as it is.  Why did you have to grow so much? I liked it when I could pick you up like a gangly puppy.”

“For one, brief summer, and then I outgrew you, short stuff.” He wasn’t even laying on the smugness in his voice. It was only two or three inches, but he was broader and far more heavily muscled too. It was _so_ damn satisfying.

“I’m not short stuff, _Tim’s_ the short stuff. I’m perfectly balanced, completely average. You just got too tall.” Dick poked him with a hard finger. Then he went back to considering Jason’s boots.

“Maybe if I take your socks, that will offer a bit of extra protection?” he suggested at last.

It made sense and Jason untied his boots before yanking them off his aching feet. They felt almost swollen in the heat. He stripped off his socks and inspected them doubtfully; they were wet with sweat, having been worn for the best part twenty four hours, and they didn’t smell great. It was stupid to feel embarrassed about it, but he was. Jason liked to be clean; he wasn’t a germaphobe or a neat freak or anything, he just liked to have control over his body and how he presented it to the world. Stinky socks made him feel ashamed, which was dumb, given the circumstances - but there was nothing he could do about it now so he dumped them on the sand and put his shoes back on, tying them tightly to attempt to avoid the inevitable blisters. While he was occupied, berating himself for his weird hang-ups, Dick lent forward and snatched up the offending socks. Completely unbothered by the state of them, he pulled them on and wiggled his toes.

“This should help a bit,” he said.

Jason eyed him dubiously. He looked ridiculous, the socks were too big and looked strangely adorable ruched up around his bare ankles. He clearly didn’t give a crap about the smell or the sweat – he was so weirdly different to Jason, comfortable in his skin. He didn't care if he was stinky and gross, didn’t care if he was wearing Jason's nasty cast offs. It was hard to wrap his head around a mindset that was so different to his own. Unsure what to say, Jason just grunted a vague agreement.

“So, what now?” Dick asked as Jason handed him a bit of prickly pear fruit to eat. “Oh, this is good! Is there more?”

“Yeah, for now. We shouldn’t eat to much though – water is the most important thing. Do you think they will come after us?” He already knew the answer.

“Yeah, we’re witnesses. They’re going to have to keep us quiet, which means chasing us down. It’s going to be tricky staying ahead of them; they’re able bodied, have vehicles, guns, and water.” Dick tapped his chin thoughtfully. “But we can go where cars can’t, we have training they don’t know about, and if they want to keep their activities quiet and stop us from radioing for help then they are going to have to keep the blockers up.”

“That means they’re going to have to track us the old fashioned way.”

Dick nodded, “Exactly. That gives us, well, not much of an advantage, but not a disadvantage.”

“Great. A not-disadvantage. How useful.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sarcastic prick?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re also a giant jackass, Jay.”

“That has also been mentioned a time or two.”

Dick grinned his expresion fierce. "So we run?"

"We run." Jason just hoped they could stay one step ahead. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Murder, violence breif mentions of what was happening to Ana in an earlier chapter.

 

After further discussion, they had decided to lay low in their outcrop through the worst of the heat of the day – or at least for as long as possible. Their slightly elevated position gave them line of sight for miles,  which meant they would  hopefully  be able to spot any pursuit when it came.  They took turns dozing, catching small naps as the time trickled by. 

Jason was dreaming of a hot and dark place full of terror, when he snapped awake at the touch of Dick's hand on his arm. “Jay, we gotta move,”  was all he said.  Jason followed his pointing finger and spotted what he had seen . Dust; t he kind thrown up from under the tires of a truck. 

“Shit.” Dick had already gathered their meagre supplies,  which left Jason with  nothing more to do  than push himself painfully to his feet,  offer  Dick a hand up and  try  not to look at the expression of pain on his face. At least they were partially rested. “I guess we head up as much as possible? Find spaces the car can’t follow?” he suggested.

“Yeah.” Dick squinted at the sun. “What time is it, do you think? Three?”

“About tha t. S till enough sun to make this suck.”   
  


Moving was slow but steady , despite Dick's gasps of pain and the throbbing ache in Jason's hip. It was the thirst and the heat and the sun that  quickly  became insufferable. After  just  an hour Jason's face was feeling hot  \-  like _ burning-to-a-crisp _ hot  \-  and Dick was sending him concerned glances. 

“Are there any plants that act as a sunscreen?” Dick asked, as they scrambled over a bolder and made their way up a sharp incline. “Because you already look like a fresh cooked lobster and in another hour, so will I. It’s not a good look for me, so I would rather avoid it.”

“It’s not a good look for anyone,” Jason grunted, trying to summon enough energy to be amused by Dick’s attempts to joke. “And I have no idea. The pear is supposed to help, and to sooth e burns, but it’s not a strong protection from the sun  - not sun like this anyway.”

They reached the top of the rise, panting and aching and  thirstier  than Jason could ever remember being. They shuffled over the hot rocks on their stomachs to peer over the edge. Below them  were  the truck and a dirt bike,  with  six men  nearby  examining the ground close to where they had started their assent. 

“It’s going to take them less time than it did us. M aybe an hour, seeing as they are going to have to track us,” Dick said, as Jason handed over his canteen for a small sip of precious water. “We have to get moving again, and quick. We need to hide our tracks or find somewhere  _ real _ inhospitable.”

Jason wiped the sweat off his brow. H is face felt grimy and if it was anything like as dirty as Dick's was, then he probably just smeared muck around like face-paint. His skin was sore, and he suspected it was only going to get worse. “We should head to high ground as much as we can, make it as hard as possible for them.

Dick nodded, and they pressed on. Jason had to put himself in a light trance to overcome both the pain and the incessant heat. Beside him, Dick had given up trying to hide his own distress, and was whining and gasping with each step he took. It was awful to listen to, so Jason did his best to block that out too. 

Ahead was a tall wall of rock, it wasn't so steep it was impossible to climb but it wouldn't be easy, even for those that grew up leaping about on the tops of tall buildings. But, after a short debate they decided to climb it then res t, b efore travelling as far as possible though the night. 

It turned out that  pulling yourself up a cliff with a busted shoulder and hip was not easy or fun. Dick did better, using his upperbody strength and toes to give his feet a break, but b y the time Jason was three quarters of the way up dusk was already falling, the last of the sinking sun setting the land and rock aflame with colour. Jason could sort of appreciate it, while he clung to the rock face with his good arm and tried very hard not to fall off and die. He wasn’t sure he could go any further ; his shoulder wound was bleeding again, soaking the bandage and making his grip dangerously slick , a nd his muscles were burning and starting to shake. He shut his eyes and wobbled a bit.  Then a small rock struck him on the head and a shower of dust fell into his eyes when he looked up to see what impending disaster was approaching now. It was Dick, scooting back down the rock like it was no trouble at all.

“Shit I forgot about your shoulder, Jay, why didn’t you say anything? You dumb moron.” 

The world spun a little, and Jason dug his fingers into the rough surface of the rock. “It’s weird,” he said, taking a deep breath. “People say stuff like that, when those words mean the same things in colloquial English,  It’s like calling someone a stupid stupid.” His voice didn’t sound quite as strong as he was hoping, and the edge of mockery he had been going for was completely absent , b ut it helped take his mind off the pain and the long drop beneath him. 

“People say stupid moron all the time; _you_ say it all the time.”

“Yeah but isn’t it odd we say pointless stuff like that?” He really wasn’t sure how he was going to get the rest of the way up. 

Dick laughed, a breathy chuckle. “Oh shut up, you nerd,” he said with affection in his voice, as he came parallel to Jason and got under his bad shoulder. “This is going to hurt but at least you won’t fall.”  

Dick had always seemed to have an interesting relationship with gravity, only accepting its reality under duress, and he seemed to stick to the rock like it was Velcro. Together they managed to heave Jason's protesting body up to the top before the closing darkenss caught them. 

Then they lay panting on the hot rock. Jason was trying hard not to puke as the world spun a little. 

“When we run out of water, will we have to drink our own pee?” Dick asked, still flat on his back, fingers just touching Jason's good shoulder.

“That’s only worth it if it’s your own pee – and even then I’m not sure if its actually sensible.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we drank each  _ others _ pee. Gross, Jay”    

Jason sighed. How could he be this annoying? “And what sort of receptacle were you going to put the pee in, in order to drink it?”

“Canteen.”

“Both of us? With no wash in between?”

“Oh, I see your point.” Dick huffed quietly.

Jason rolled his head to see him. He had his eyes closed and his face was lined with pain. He hated that look, tight with discomfort and stress.  “Or is your aim so good you were going to attempt to piss into your own mouth? Or bend yourself up like a pretzel to do it?” he asked. 

“I’m sure with enough incentive, I could totally do that. Although I am far too hot and sore to attempt it at the moment.”

“Thank god for that,” Jason said, but then the visual image that sprang into his mind startled a chuckle out of him. “Actually, I take that back, go right ahead. If I’m going to die out here, then I want my last image to be of you pissing in your own face.”

“Kinky.”

“I was thinking, more comedy gold, but whatever floats your boat, Dickie-boy.”

 

Somehow, despite the pain and aching muscles, or perhaps because of it. They both slept – unfortunately they both  _ overslept _ by a good few hours, wasting precious, cool darkness. 

When they awoke, after some unhappy grumbling and a breakfast of the remaining fruit,  they set out towards the distant peak of a jagged cliff.

They walked and climbed until the sun rose into the sky and it begun to get too hot. Jason could feel the edge of dizziness again. “We got to find shade soon.” 

“Yeah,” Dick agreed . “Y our face looks like a bruised tomato.”

“Thanks, Dick.”

Dick blinked a few times. He was clearly feeling the heat as much as Jason was and his own face, was looking pretty sore too. “L et’s get out the sun,” he agreed.

Jason nodded, feeling to o parched to talk much, he pointed to the shade created by a sharp over hang of yellowed rock. 

“Yeah,” Dick agreed and began to limp towards it. 

The thirst was bad now . E ven with the last of their prickly pear, there was never enough  moisture  in Jason's throat. The feeling of it was like a wild animal inside him, impossible to ignore while it clawed at him.  There was that edge of yellow dizziness to his vision too, something he recognised as the possible beginning of heat stroke.  His hip was aching so much as he approached the canyon wall that he reached out to the rock for support, concentrating more on where he was putting his feet rather than his hands. A sharp pain made him squawk loudly and whip his hand back. He had only gone and leaned on some mean looking cactus, skewing his hand in multiple places. God he fucking  _ hated _ this desert. He could feel confused, angry, impotent rage bubbling under his skin. He wanted to burn this place to the ground – not that it wasn’t already pretty scorched. 

“Okay, Jay?” Dick asked, somehow still limber as a mountain goat going over the uneven ground despite hobbling in agony. 

“Fucking cactus piece of shit!” Jason snarled still furious at the plant, at the desert, at Bruce.  He held his palm out so Dick could see the spikes still embedded there.

Dick frowned. “That could get infected,” he said.

“Well it’s going to have to wait its turn, what with all the fucking bullet wounds having first bash at polluting by blood stream.”

“Do you want to shout at the plant some more, Jay? Go ahead if it makes you feel better.” 

“Fuck  _ off. _ ”

“I wish,” Dick sighed, and started back along the wall, still heading for the spot they had chosen to aim for. 

Sitting with only one hand to assist his awkward descent was no fucking fun either, and Jason scowled angrily at the offending spines in his palm. At least it was slightly cooler in the shade. 

“Water, then let me look at your hand.” Dick said, as Jason dug out the canteen. One mouthful each.

Jason took his own swig and passed it on to Dick, who looked like utter shit sitting beside him; burnt and scruffy and worn so thin he looked like a good sneeze might send him flying. 

“What do we do now? Dick croaked before drinking and wiping his mouth on his wrist. He winced as the motion rubbed sand into his cracked lips. “Give me your hand.”

To pained and tired to argue, Jason let Dick examine him with careful fingers. “It’s been over a day. Nearly two? Whatever has gone down out there must be done, right? They must have rescued the prisoners?” 

Dick nodded, gently tugging out cactus spines. His fingers felt strangely cool. “So you think they have stopped chasing us? They must know its pointless now. You’re done, no more nasty plant spikes.” He lent back against the cool rock behind him, not yet heated from the sun and closed his eyes. 

Jason examined  his hand. It was sore but not horribly painful. Hopefully it wouldn’t even bother him in an hour or so. He leaned back against the rock too, and thought about Dick’s question, he went over what he knew about the organisation, about Tate. “I don’t know,” he said at last, “I suspect Tate  - the guy in charge of my unit  - might have had some sort of contingency plan for if things went tits up. We might have made a mess of that – and if that’s the case, then perhaps he might keep chasing us out of spite. Or perhaps in order to insure there are no witnesses to his involvement.”

Dick nodded. “We can’t keep running. We’re on the edge as it is,  and  if we keep using our energy and l osin g water to exertion we aren't going to make it another day,  even  if we do find for more prickly pear.”

“Plan?” Jason was too bone tired to be more descriptive with his words.

“Trap,” Dick said decisively, clearly feeling the same weariness. 

“Trap,” Jason agreed.   
  


Trap was easier said than done. With fuzzy minds and exhausted bodies, it took a while to figure out the essentials - what, where and how  \- bu t eventually they were ready. The spot they had chosen was where the path between the sides of the canyon narrowed, before opening into a dusty plain. Jason was armed with the gun, Dick with the baton and  taser . It was an obvious place for an ambush, which gave them a disadvantage, but it was obvious because it was good, and with what they had available and with their flagging reserves of strength, they had to risk it. 

Waiting was hard – the effort they had put in to gaining distance, almost forty five minutes, had been considerable. It was galling to stop and let the assholes catch up. 

But catch up they did. Jason was tucked further back,  well hidden behind a large pile of fallen rock s. H e wouldn't be able to see the men until they were slightly  past  him  so h e was relying on Dick for an indication of when to move. Getting them out in the open was going to be crucial – if they found cover, he and Dick did not have the resources to wait them out or defeat them.  

He was hunched low against the rock and his knees were aching with the strain when the first uniformed man walked cautiously past his hiding spot. His quick assessing sweep of the area had missed Jason in the shadows. Jason held his position, the second man walked past, then a third. That one was Hale, that  _ fucker.  _  As though his gaze was drawn by the violent hate in his thoughts, Hale’s eyes landed on Jason and widened comically. Then there was a buzz and he jerked, arms flailing as Dick nailed him with the tazer – hopefully that meant he had taken down Tate and the rest with his usual efficient and silent hand to hand methods.

The remaining two men scrambled for cover; the second got Jason's knife through his knee for his trouble, and sprawled on the sand, his gun skittering out of his hands. There was an echoing rumbling sound that Jason couldn’t place as he scrambled after the last man. His gun was still in it’s holster , and f or some reason his fingers seemed reluctant to draw it. Before he had to decide if he was going to shoot him, Dick shot past and tackled the guy as he tried to take aim and run at the same time and they went down in a heap of flailing limbs. 

The moment stretched, in that way it always seemed to when Jason was in battle, adrenaline making everything so clear. Then the rumbling  that had been at the edge of his concentration finally took form as Tate veered around the canyon corner on the bike. Jason stepped back behind his rocks, reassessing . If they had been caught crossing that plain they would have been shot down like dogs. Tate knew the area, and he must have been making the long trip around the ravine in an effort to cut them off. It had worked, taking them by surprise in their poor condition - b ut Tate clearly had not been counting on them taking down all five of his men. 

Tate didn’t let his shock stop him for long and he opened fire on the two combatants still tussling in the dust. Dick, with reflexes trained into him from an early age, rolled and flipped away like a startled cat, m anaging to reach cover relatively unscathed. The man he had been fighting with was not so lucky, and he lay prone in the sand in a growing pool of blood. 

“Come on, Peters, I know you’re here,” Tate said, as Jason remained hidden in the cover of his tiny alcove. “You going to at least do me the courtesy of explaining your betrayal?” 

If Jason was going to get him, with his limited movement, he was going to have to shoot blind. That was not going to be easy. 

Tate shot at the rocks that hid Dick, causing him to yelp with pain or surprise. Jason couldn’t see him from his own position but at least It wasn’t a scream, or a yell, so the damage couldn’t be that bad. Hopefully.

“Because you aren't a cop,” Tate said, when the echoes from the blast died down. “Or at least, you aren’t an honest one.”

And oh  _ fuck _ , he was going to tell Dick about the murder, this was not good. Jason could feel panic edge its way up his spine. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ .

Tate seemed to be enjoying himself. “Because I watched you shoot a man in cold blood, even if you did-” 

Jason didn’t wait for him to finish, and he stuck his gun out from behind the rocks and shot towards the sound of Tate’s voice, again and again. Tate cussed and shot back, Jason ignored him and kept shooting, three, four bullets left, probably, he had lost count with the rushing in his ears.

“You son of a bitch!” Tate snarled. Not dead then, but maybe hit. H e definitely sounded pissed enough anyway. 

“You want more, Stevie?” Jason called. He checked the chamber. Two bullets left. Fuck. Stupid amateur, panicked reaction. 

A round of gunfire hit his rock, causing shrapnel to fly. Then more shooting, not at him, but he couldn't figure out if Tate had a bead on Dick, or if he was just giving himself covering fire as he went for his bike.

The sound of it rumbling to life answered that question and Jason almost got his head blown off trying to see around the rock to get in a last, hopefully killing, shot. Tate was firing one handed as he steered his bike away and out of range. 

“Enjoy the desert, boys.” Tate yelled, as the bike swerved around the corner. 

The silence was suddenly deafening. It was just the sound of Jason's own harsh breaths and the rapid beating of his heart. 

“What the fuck was that, Jay?” Dick called from his own hidden position. 

Carefully, Jason eased out so he could see their impromptu battlefield. He desperately needed to check if Dick had been further wounded, and if the remaining men had a communicator, or water. Fuck he needed a drink. 

The men lay where they had fallen, but were now peppered with bullet wounds. 

“He shot his own men, the  _ bastard _ .” Dick said, as he emerged and crept forward, keeping a wary eye on the direction Tate had gone.

Jason stooped to examine the dead man closest to him. “Not only that,” he said dully, “he shot out their canteens.” Precious water had escaped onto the sand, mingling with the man’s blood and seeping into the dusty ground. 

“Fuck.” Dick looked terrible, exhausted and shaky from fatigue. But at least he didn’t seem to be badly wounded. 

“He get you?” Jason asked anyway.

“No . B it of rock shrapnel hit me, but it’s just bruises.” Dick bent to check the next man, so riddled with bullets he looked like little more than a greasy smear over the desert floor from where Jason was standing.  Dick turned him over and examined his supplies “He shot the hell out of this one.” He dug  through  the pockets, pulled out a shattered communicator. “Second in command maybe?”  A further search revealed his water had also fallen victim to the gunfire. 

“There might be enough for a sip in some of these,” Jason said carefully pulling free a perforated canteen from a corpse. Tate was a good shot – definitely ex military, maybe even black ops.

 

“Jason! This one is still alive!”

Dick was kneeling next to Hale  \-  of course it was fucking Hale  \-  his fingers on the man’s pulse. 

“Dick we don’t have enough  supplies  to keep ourselves alive for more than a day or so - we can’t be giving  any of them t o some murdering, rapist scum.” Jason was being matter of fact, it was only the truth. 

“I know,” Dick admitted, “but I can’t leave a person to die like this.” He sounded torn. 

Jason looked up, the first of the vultures was circling effortlessly, drawn across the desert by the scent of blood. It would be a horrific way to die if he woke. Kinder to kill him. He deserved it. But Jason hesitated, chewing on his cracked lip. “I could put him down,” he said after a moment. It was fitting to kill him like the animal he was. The thought made him shiver, remembering the way Tate and Hale and Ellis had spoken about the migrant he had shot. 

“That’s not an option,” Dick snapped.

“So what? Take him with us? Tend his wounds? Waste our supplies on him, despite the fact he might die anyway?” Jason’s breaths were harsh in his own ears. It wasn’t like he was saying Dick had to do it  - he could even over-power him, in his wobbly state, could kill Hale and deal with the fall out later, if they lived. “Do you know what these guys did out here? Apart from get rich off the suffering of others? They murder people, for  _ fun _ . They force the women and girls, sell the children to fuck knows what fate. I don’t want to die, I don’t want  _ you _ to die protecting one of them, Dick! I couldn’t live with knowing I let that happen.”

Dick blinked up at him, his face a mix of emotion. Jason scrubbed a hand over his face, and immediately wished he hadn’t – it hurt, like his skin was burned right down to the bone. He used the pain to centre himself. “You know I mentioned rescuing a girl? Well, this guys best friend was taking her off to the side to have some fun with her. She can’t have been more than fifteen; he was going to rape a kid. What do you think this guy would have done, Dick? Stopped him? Or joined in?”

Dick gave a full body shudder and blinked rapidly like he was trying to get dust out of his eyes. He said nothing. 

Jason tried to calm himself, to think clearly through his anger and fear. “You’re right that leaving him here would be unnecessarily cruel. I’ll stop his breath, he’ll go w ithou t ever knowing this is how his fate was decided.” He didn’t think he could shoot him  - not in head, not like before. 

Dick shuddered again, something wild going on behind his eyes. The fact he was even hesitating was actually pretty terrifying. Dick, like Bruce, stuck stubbornly to his morals to the point of stupidity . I t was just a fact of life, like the sun rising and the seasons turning. He never wavered in Jason's experience; and yet , here he was, considering letting Jason smother a man to death. Fucking hell. Jason hadn't really expected him to accept it, he had thought he would have to fight to do it. 

Dick shook himself like a dog. “We can’t, Jason. We have to at least see how bad his injuries are. If he has a chance of surviving, we should try.”

Jason let him have his way for now, out of pure relief that the natural order of things had returned.

For a moment, he had felt like he was sitting next to a stranger. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my friend Sarah, who was hiking in the peruvian desert recently, and in a moment of exhaustion, leaned on a cactus. And then texted me to tell me Jason would totally do that. Which he would. (She and the cactus both made a full recovery)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: homophobic language, vague mentions of non-con and abuse of minors, a mild maiming? Inappropriate humour...
> 
> Thanks to Sharon for the Beta!

It didn’t take Jason long to regret his decision. They discussed their options in stilted words, both crashing hard from the adrenalin high of the battle. They had decided to find a spot that had as much shade as possible and was somewhat defensible, and hunker down to wait for rescue. There was no chance of walking further to find help, not with Hale and not without a regular supply of water. They were already pushed beyond reasonable limits and serious dehydration and organ failure were a very real possibility. 

That decided, Jason scouted a sensible looking place, while Dick stripped the corpses of anything useful and fashioned a stretcher out of belts and a pair of pants for Hale's useless carcass. Jason refused to help tend Hale’s wounds, although he noted they were pretty bad. His worst injury seemed to be in his lower abdomen - a gunshot wound that was eerily reminiscent of the man Jason had murdered; the man  _ Hale _ had played a part in forcing him to murder. Jason hoped the bastard died before they had to drag his heavy ass the half mile to the place he had chosen for their camp.

No such luck - and he was  _ heavy _ .  Still, they got him there eventually. Jason only dropped his end of the sling the one time, and sadly that also didn’t kill him, despite the dull thump his head made when it hit the ground. 

The sheltered alcove Jason had selected for their camp was near a couple of prickly pear plants, so they had some level of liquid to keep them from flat out dying, but it wasn’t enough for comfort. He would never take water for granted again. Or the opportunity to bathe. 

A quick inventory revealed that they had plenty of ammo and weapons, half a canteen of water between the three of them, two distress flares, several kits to start fires, a chocolate bar and a variety of knives. 

Jason looked over the goods while he debated sitting down.  “Let’s light a fire, we have plenty of dry brush. Tate’s long gone, the communicators are still down for some reason, and our only hope is for B or his minions to find us.” Jason said, shoving a collection of sticks into the middle of their camp. All the weapons were piled behind Dick, as far away from Hale as they could get. Hale, for his part, sat slumped against a rock, his hands and feet tied loosely in front of him. Dick had insisted on keeping him only lightly restrained to avoid aggravating his injuries, and Jason had reluctantly agreed due mostly to the fact he was hardly in a fit state to attack them.

 

As the fire built, lending comfort despite the heat, Hale opened his eyes.

“Peters,” he said. “Why?”

Jason ignored him, he didn’t owe him any kind of explanation. He chucked a few more sticks at the fire, heedless of the sparks their impact sent up. 

Dick shifted forward on his ass, curling his body up without putting any further pressure on his feet. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“You fucking shot me, how do you  _ think _ I’m feeling?” Hale ground out. His voice was low and rough with pain.

“No, I tazed you. Your boss shot you and the rest of your team and left you for dead like roadkill. We patched you up.”

“That’s not true! He would never do that.” 

“In a shocking turn of events we learn there is no honour among thieves, or sociopathic dealers in human suffering.” Dick said with a smile that was more of a grimace. “I’m shocked. Are you, Jay?”

“I am.” Jason said. He was surprised by Dick’s use of his name – or nickname, at least - but he figured Dick’s assessment was pretty much the same as his: unless they were rescued in the next 24 hours, Hale wasn’t going to make it. “You believe what you want. If I’d had my way, you would be dead with a bullet to the head, but Mr Morality here wouldn't let me.” 

“You want information, you won’t get it.” Hale wheezed. 

Jason sneered at him across the fire “We don’t need it.  All of your friends are either dead or arrested by now, except maybe Tate who fucked off on the bike after shooting all you chumps and destroying the canteens so you’d all die of thirst out here.” Fuck Tate. He poked at the fire again with an angry thrust of his walking stick. 

“Stop stabbing the fire, Jay.” Dick said, but his heart didn’t seem in it. 

Hale blinked at him, clearly working through his thoughts. “You’re lying,” he decided.

“Nope.” Dick sighed.  “We all get to die together.”

Hale swung his eyes towards Dick “And who the fuck are you?” he asked. “Peters, why’d you save this guy? Or are you working together? You ain't cops.”

“No, we’re not, we’re more like… private investigators.” 

“You’re Mercs,” Hale decided. It made sense, was even sort of true; except for the getting paid part. “So he rescued you?”

“Yeah. Although I didn’t need rescuing, I had it.” 

Jason noticed he and Hale were both sending Dick the same slightly disbelieving look. 

“Sure” Hale sneered, “I remember you, saw you being loaded into Grove’s tent. He’s one of those sick freaks that likes to fuck up a couple of the people we get.”

Dick shook the hair out of his eyes, “He might have beat me, even tortured me a bit, but I was too valuable to kill.”

“Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

Dick ignored the kid comment, although Hale was probably only a handful of years older than them. “I  _ know _ that. I was worth £500,000 for my liver alone. I know that because I bought it."

“You bought your own liver?” Jason couldn’t help but ask. It made sense – was actually a really good plan. Go in as an anonymous buyer in need of a transplant, then go undercover: you’d be a perfect match and guaranteed to be sold to that one person. All the prisoners were tested before shipping so if a ‘donor’ was found they would be able to hike the price to ridiculous levels. 

“Yeah. So he might have messed me up, but I would have made it though and if everything went wrong, I would have an extraction plan. I  _ told _ B that.”

“Great, so we’re going to die out here because B has finally decided to act like an over cautious parent? Marvellous.”

Hale coughed, something wet and hacking, Jason wondered if this was it. He didn’t fancy carting his corpse around again this evening, and they would have to move him away from the camp before he started to stink, but on closer inspection he just seemed to be laughing. “You think?” Hale said. “You would have been delivered alive, sure, but he would have messed you up pretty good first.”

“That’s what I said,” Jason couldn’t help adding.

“I could handle it.”

“What if he amputated your fingers or something? Could you handle that?” Jason's anger and remembered fear at the expression in that guy - Grove’s -  face was bubbling up again, like a wild and tangled thing in his chest. “He could have blinded you or maimed you, crippled you for life!”

“Corneas,”  Dick said stubbornly.

“Okay, so your eyes were valuable. Your legs aren't, nor are your fingers and toes.” He paused. “He probably would have fucked you,” Hale added, with a disgusted twist of his lip. 

Jason had been avoiding mentioning the threat of sexual violence, although it had been large in his mind. Hearing the words in Hale's mouth filled him with a rage that he had to put all his flagging will power into not letting explode outward.

Hale smirked, and like a fool carried on talking. “Though maybe you would have liked that. You look the type.”

With barely any warning, Dick shot across the fire and socked Hale in the face, sending him thumping back against the rock.  “You fucking bastard,” he shouted as he hit him again, open handed this time.

“Whoa, Dick!” Jason leaned around and grabbed him by the back of the shirt, not because he was opposed to giving Hale a pummelling, but because Dick might regret it if he accidentally killed him after wasting all this effort trying to save him. 

“Dick, cool it, he’s just trying to get a rise. Hale, another comment like that and I’ll put a bullet in your knee cap.”

Dick didn’t even object to the idea, which was a little concerning.

Hale eyed him up warily, as if checking his level of seriousness. “You know I will,” Jason said, just in case he had forgotten that he was a cold blooded killer. 

“Fine,” Hale agreed with a sneer, “I’ll keep my ideas to myself, seeing as you and your and your fag boyfriend seem so sensitive.”

Dick didn’t react to that with any violence, thankfully, but twisted his head around to look Hale up and down with extreme contempt. “That’s another of those things you hate, isn’t it, Jay? Like ‘stupid stupid’, but dumber and more insulting.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “And I did tell him I was gonna kneecap him if he back talked us again.” 

Hale was looking like he might be regretting his choices. The cool expression on Dick's face was giving  _ Jason _ the chills, and Hale was looking distinctly nervous. 

“Seems excessive,” Dick said at last. “Wouldn’t want to waste a bullet.”

“I could punch him again?” Jason offered hopefully, “Or break a finger?” 

Dick nodded thoughtfully, the firelight making his pretty face look soft and vulnerable for a moment. An illusion. 

“Your faggot ass wouldn't  _ dare _ .” Hale said to Dick, in an act of incredibly stupid bravado, considering Dick had gone past irrational bursts of temper and moved onto  cool, calm and collected rage. 

Without missing a beat, Dick's had shot out caught hold of Hale's pinky finger and twisted. The snap was loud and Hale yowled, before his eyes rolled up and he unceremoniously passed out against the rock.

Dick looked guilty. “I shouldn’t have done that, why did I do that?” He went to rub at his face, seemed to think better of it and pulled at his hair instead. “Shit, what the fuck did I  _ do _ that for?” 

Jason shrugged. “He deserved it.”

“Not the point, Jay,  that doesn’t give me the right to go breaking limbs just because someone calls me names.” 

“It was only a very small limb? Not even a limb, just a joint.” Jason offered. It had been a little shocking, like the punch, but was understandable in his opinion. It had also been kind of hot, but he felt it was best not to mention that part.

Dick grimaced and began sorting through their stuff, picking out things with which to make a splint. He carefully set the finger, while Hale was still unconscious. It was a sorry sight, held together with a green lace from some dead guys boot. 

“I feel bad.”

“Don’t, I wasn’t kidding about what his friend was doing when I ki.. er, when I rescued the girl.”  _ Good save, Jason _ . Dick’s eyebrow had risen, but he didn’t comment. Jason chose to pretend the slip hadn’t happened. “They both prayed on underage girls, and in my opinion they should both at least be castrated and at worst left for the vultures.” He jabbed at the fire again.

Dick scowled at the sparks as they rose and crackled. “My head just doesn't feel right. How could I just do that?”

“It’s the heat and the stress, Dickie, and the fact that Hale is the human equivalent of a shit smear.”

“I know, but...”

Jason waved a hand, cutting him off. “No buts. Get some sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

 

Dick slept and Hale came around.  He looked bemused by the strange but neat little splint on his finger. “Why break it if you’re going to fix it?” he asked tersely. “God, I feel like crap.”

“Yeah well, you got gut shot and had your finger broken. Next time keep your shit-talking to yourself or I’ll break the rest - and trust me, I won’t feel guilty and bandage them up after.”

“I don’t want to die.” Hale said. He looked lost and afraid. Jason had to remind himself of all the people he had hurt with his actions, all the kids that would have begged not to be harmed. Some of them may have even begged for death to free them from their torment. 

“You reap what you sow,” he said firmly. “Now save your strength and sleep.”

 

Time passed slowly in the desert. They were protected from the sun throughout most of the day, but they could still feel the heat of it, the cloying thirst and the clawing pain.

And it was boring. Really  _ really _ boring.  

 

“I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with D.”

“This is dumb,” Jason said, for the second time.

Dick thumped him listlessly on the thigh he had chosen to use as a pillow, despite the extra body heat. “I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with  _ D. _ ” he insisted.

Jason sighed, resigned. Hale was looking at them like they are complete freaks. “Desert?” Jason guessed. May as well start with the obvious. 

“Nope.”

“Dust?”

“Nope.”

“Dirt? Dunes? Dick,?” This was so dumb. But to be fair, there wasn’t much else to do, other than die. “Dickhead?” 

“Close, try again.”

“Dumbass?”

“On the right track!” Dick sounded positively enthused

Jason pointed at Hale. “Douchebag?”

“Yes! Your go.”

“I resent that,” Hale muttered, but he seemed amused despite himself.

Jason ran his fingers through Dick's dirty hair where it spilled over his leg, his eyes on Hale as he tracked the movement of Jason’s hand. He looked less disgusted now, more bemused. Like he couldn't understand why Jason was being so obvious with his affection. “Fine, my go,” Jason said, “I spy with my little eye something beginning with S.”

“Sand?”

“Nah, too obvious, Dickie.”

“Shoes? Spines?” Dick twisted around and pointed at his feet. “Socks?”

They still looked adorable, ruched up around Dick's dirty ankles. Something about this slow, sickly death was making Jason mellow and fond. Go figure. 

“Sky?” Hale asked, breaking into Jason's thoughts.

“Who invited you in on this game?” He said, a little sourly 

“Your boyfriends shit at it, someone's got to help.”

Jason considered hitting him, but the way he had said boyfriend had been more factual than insulting, no matter how wrong the assumption. “Fine. No, it’s not sky.” 

“Stink?” Dick offered after a moment of contemplation and a wrinkled nose.

Jason sighed. “You can’t see stink, Dick.” 

“I feel like I can.” Dick's nose wrinkled again. “We all stink.”

“I’m not saying we don’t stink, I’m saying you can’t  _ see _ stink.”

“They can.” Dick pointed upwards at the three lazily circling vultures. Not ominous at all.

“Fine. No, it’s not stink, or stank, or snark.”

“Sarcasm?”

“No.”

“What is it then?” Dick said, a little grumpily, Jason thought.

“Give up?”

“Sand?” Hale said, blearily.

“We’ve done sand. You’re both crap at this.  It’s sweat.” 

“You can kind of smell sweat,” Dick said.

“No, Dick.”

“I smell with my little nose...”

“ _ No _ , Dick.”   
  


“Is anyone else cold?” Dick gripped as Jason staggered a few steps away from their camp to piss. How his body was still trying to produce urine was beyond him. Or maybe it just  _ thought _ he needed to pee. His hands were shaking so much, the few painful drops he managed to produce just dribbled onto his boot. “Fuck!”

Dick turned his head sharply at his exclamation and Hale began a wheezy chuckle. “Did you just piss on yourself?”

“Fuck off and hurry up and die, you windbag,” Jason grumbled as he nearly fell trying to wipe the pee off his boot onto a rock. “God I hate this place. I hate you and I hate Tate and B and I want a fucking drink of cold water.”

“Here here,” Dick said. 

“Who’s B?” Hale asked, dully.

“It stands for boss,” Dick said. “And right now we hate him. But we love him really.” Dick was starting to sound a little drunk. Probably sign of serious dehydration. Heat stroke maybe. Jason could feel it too. 

“Speak for yourself,” he muttered anyway.

“We’re all going to fucking die out here,” Hale said. He didn’t sound good either, something was gurgling in the back of his throat, and there was a smell coming from him that was sickness and death.

Dick sighed pitifully pillowing his head back on Jason’s thigh. “I’m not afraid of dying, but I would rather not, and this is a really crap way to go.” he said, mournfully. “I never thought I would die with this much stubble.” He touched his face. “People wont recognise me.”

Jason snorted. “Sorry you are not leaving the beautiful corpse of your dreams. Try being beaten to death and blown up next time.”

“Jason,” Dick whined like a child. “Shave me, I don’t like the stubble.”

“You want me, a man who just pissed on his boots, to shave you with a combat knife?”

“Perhaps not.”

“What is wrong with you guys?” Hale asked, “I can’t even tell if your joking or serious.”

“I’m dying, which is shit,” Dick said, waving a hand “And I’m  _ bored  _ which is just insufferable.”

They sat for a moment, all seeming to contemplate this unfortunate fact. 

“We could play Never Have I Ever?” Hale suggested finally. “I’m so fed up of I spy, and your weird-ass game of who can remember the longest maths shit was nerdy and boring. The competition over chemical whatsits was even worse.”

“Chemical compounds to make explosives aren't boring,” Jason said, a little defensively. 

“You start,” Dick said, endlessly determined to stave off boredom no matter the mental cost. 

Jason sighed. Talk about ignoble ends, playing high school games with a piece of crap like Hale, while waiting for rescue or death was, frankly not how he had expected to go out. 

“Never have I ever been to Europe. I always wanted to go. Italy maybe.” Hale said wistfully.

“We’ve both been,” Jason said. Cutting off whatever story Hale was about to launch into and making him scowl.

Of course that meant he had to go next. “Never have I ever been to prom,” he decided after a moment. 

Hale scoffed “I went to prom, got laid; Julie O’Rouke, blond bombshell, so damn fine. God that was a good night.”

Dick nodded. “I went too, except I got kidnapped and pistol whipped,” he said, looking kind of fond at the memory. 

Hale squinted at him across the fire. “You got.. kidnapped? At your prom?”

“I had an interesting childhood,” Dick said, still fond. 

Hale made a noise of both interest and doubt.

“I was dead,” Jason added, just to see the look of confusion on his face, the hang-dog expression on Dick’s was a bonus. “Oh, I’ve got another one. Never have I ever turned sixteen.”

“Jason!” Dick whined.

“Fine. Never have I ever not died horribly.”

“ _ Jason _ ! You’re not funny!”

Jason thought it was plenty funny. 

Hale huffed, “You’re ruining the game, and that doesn’t even make sense! You guys are fucked in the head.”

“Never have I ever had a threesome with amazing hot aliens,” Dick said, slurring slightly.

“You’re supposed to say stuff you  _ haven’t _ done, Dick.”

“Oh.” Dicks eyes were closing and Jason’s fingers found their way back into his hair, smoothing out snarls formed of sand and blood.  

“Wait, go back to the alien threesome?” Hale asked plaintively. “Am I hallucinating?

Jason decided death was probably the easy way out of this torturous nonsense. 

  
  


“I won’t!” 

Jason's eyes shot open at the shout, casting around wildly for the threat. 

“He’s dreaming,” Hale said tiredly. “Keeps yelling and muttering. Been at it for a while.”

It wasn’t surprising that they would have nightmares out here, with their defences so low. But it still made something in Jason's heart clench tight to see the fear in Dick's sleeping face. Fear and rage.

“I won’t, you may as well kill me!”

Jason smoothed Dick's hair away from his burnt face, hoping to comfort him back into restful sleep, rather than wake him. It worked after a fashion. And he quieted, although his body was still tense. 

“I get it now,” Hale said, eyes still on Dick. “Why you’re here. This is personal isn’t it?”

“How do you mean?” Jason asked cautiously. 

“He’s here for revenge. You both are. I get it, makes sense.” 

That bad feeling was pooling in Jason’s gut again, which was impressive considering all the other bad feelings that were currently situated there. “What makes you say that?” He asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Hale's gave him a look. “Like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Humour me.” 

“He’s been having nightmares, pleading with Carson to stop and let him go. Not to hurt someone called Juan.”

Jason nodded, like he knew what Hale was talking about. He said the name Carson like he knew  _ exactly _ who Dick was referring too. “And?” he asked sharply “What do you know about Carson?” 

Hale grimaced and looked uncomfortable. “I remember him. He was the boss back in the day. Before Tate replaced him.”

“You didn’t like him?”

He was a perv - liked boys, young ones. It fucked him over in the end, he got caught and the real big bosses had him killed before he even stepped foot into interrogation.” 

“Like your friend Elis was any better.” Jason said, while his mind raced. “He was taking a little girl off to the side to have fun, that not the same fucked up thing in your book?”

Hale didn’t seem to have an answer to that. He looked like he was only just considering that it might be a bit of a terrible thing to do to little girls as well as boys.

Jason sneered at him “I hope you don’t believe in god, because trust me, there ain’t any peace that you can find with your maker after the shit you have done here. If you believe in such things, you’re going right to the bad place.”

“I don’t believe,” Hale said. But he looked upset and doubtful. What was that saying? ‘There are no atheists in foxholes.’ A bunch of crap to be sure, but if ever there was a time to revisit and worry about lost faith, this was probably it.

Jason left him to his soul searching.  He had suspected something like this, deep down, it made sense as to why Bruce and Alfred had been so uptight and upset. He had suspected, but hopped he was wrong, hoped that it was his own fucked up past that would make him come to a conclusion like that. 

But it was obvious, now that he knew there had been a predictor who liked boys running this shit during the last mission. Dick would have been noticed; not just because he was good looking, but because he would be unable to stand by and let somebody else get hurt - he would have stood up to them, but not too much, not enough to blow his cover. Perhaps not until it was too late. 

When Jason had first met Dick, he had seemed larger than life. Both from the eyes of a gangly kid and because of the sheer force of his personality. He had been genuinely shocked when he had dug out a picture of him at sixteen – short, slender obnoxiously pretty – no acne, no knobbly knees or oversized limbs like Jason had from thirteen to fifteen with puberty playing merry havoc on his body. 

Dick seemed to have sailed through it with nothing more than an extremely bad taste in fashion.  That and the fact he had been a late bloomer – getting his full growth spurt at seventeen. He would have been perfect to go undercover, from Bruce’s point of view – too young to be a cop, fit and healthy he would probably be put to work or lose a kidney or two. 

Did Bruce know the risk? If you had asked Jason, he would have been able to tell you where Dick would end up, because Jason knew predators like this Carson. Perhaps, if he was being really generous, he could see it from Bruce’s point of view. Why he would have allowed such a stupid risk; because he didn’t see Dick as a victim, or a potential one. He just  saw his augmentative, stubborn, sunny little helper who wanted to go help. 

Jason rubbed at his burnt and blistered forehead, not even caring about the pain. He was glad this Carson was dead, although he kind of wanted to dig him up and kill him again. But every other fucker that stood by six years ago and let him do who knows what to Dick, and fuck knows how many others...

 

They were going to have to die too. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it keeps getting longer... I just can't seem to write anything short or fast >.< only two more main chapters now though... might also be an epilogue, we will have to see how it works out. Thanks for staying with it, despite the ever increasing length!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning For This Chapter: Thoughts of dying and (brief) thoughts about suicide, non-explicit discussion about past non-con, peril, sickness, death (not boys). Inappropriate humour. The usual.

 

“So what’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?” Dick asked.

“This?”

“No, something that’s  _ funny _ , not tragic. Like, I know you took a joyride in the Bentley, that must have been fun.”

Jason shifted his legs to a more comfortable position. The sun was up and he had begun to sweat. The feel of it trickling down his back was unpleasant, but the banter was a relief after the long silence of the last few hours as they tried, and often failed, to sleep.   “You  _ crashed _ the Bentley, twice. I merely took it for a spin.  _ So _ worth being grounded.” He said. That had been one sweet car. 

“You weren't even tall enough to see over the dashboard and use the pedals, Jay.”

“You’re still not tall enough for that.”

Dick scoffed “You’re confusing me with Tim again, I’m not short.”

“Yeah, you are - if you’re two inches shorter than me, then you are officially short.”

Dick elbowed him lightly. “Five ten is average, not  _ short _ .”

“What do you think, Hale?” Hale didn’t stir. “Oy, Hale,” Jason kicked him and his head fell to the side, eyes partly open and unblinking.  Jason stared for a moment. “I think he’s dead.” He tried to feel pleased, but somehow he couldn’t.

“Oh,” Dick said. “Fuck.”

 

It wasn’t a surprise that Hale had died. They had both known it was going to happen. Ironically it probably would have been kinder to have shot him in the head right away, rather than allow him to fade slowly and painfully, but even though it had been on the cards it had still shocked Jason, somehow. Dick too. Hale had been a waste of air when alive, and a pain in the ass now he was dead as they were going to have to move him, but Jason still felt something akin to grief over his death. It didn’t make sense. Or at least not until Dick put it into words.

“Who's next?” he said, poking the fire with Jason’s stick. “I’m going to bet on me. Whatever infections in my blood is bad, I can feel it. We should think about conserving the water for you.”

Jason tugged the stick out of Dick's hands in a fast motion and shoved it into his shoulder, hard. “I’m only going to say this once. Stop with the martyr crap – in fact, don’t even start. We both fight to stay alive, got it?”

Dick looked at him, face suddenly soft under the burns. “Okay, okay. I..” he shrugged. “I just can’t bear the thought of seeing you die.”

“Well, ditto, you selfish dumbass.”

“Noted,” Dick smiled through his cracked lips. It was ghoulish, but also managed to ease a little of the tension his words had caused.

The both contemplated Hale’s body for a moment. Jason felt strange and disconcerted. “We need to move him, he’s going to start to stink. Stink  _ more _ .” he said at last.

A fat vulture flew down and landed next to him. It looked pleased with itself and hopped a little closer. Dick chucked a stone, but it fell short, and he looked at his hand with a bemused expression as though he couldn't understand why he was too weak to hit a target only a few paces away.

The vulture looked at the small rock with interest then, apparently finding it less exciting than the delicious corpse, it hopped forward again. 

“Yeah, we’re going to have to move him.” Jason said.. He didn't want to contemplate getting up, let alone haling Hale’s heavy ass somewhere out of sight and smell, but they were going to have to.  “I can’t sit here while,” he waved a hand at the bird “Old Pete and his buddies eat someone I was talking to yesterday.” 

Dick looked at the vulture. “He doesn’t look like a Pete to me. It’s just not that much of a carnivorous-I’m-going to-eat-this-dude-in-front-of-you kind of name.”

“So what would you suggest?”

“Bane?”

“No,”

“Slade?”

“No naming it after people we’ve met, it lacks imagination.”

“And  _ Pete _ doesn't?”

“It suits him.” Jason poked Pete with the stick and he hopped back a couple of steps making a loud, hissing noise of displeasure. 

“Fuck off, Pete. Go eat someone else,” Dick told it.

Instead of leaving, Pete ruffled his feathers in irritation and glared. A second scraggly vulture landed beside him, and began eyeing up Hale hopefully.

“I get to name this one. She looks like a Daisy.”

“She looks like a fucking nightmare, but fine. Daisy the death vulture. Why not.” 

 

Moving Hale had been hard. Neither of them had much strength left, and the dead weight of him had sapped what little they had. Jason had stopped sweating, the meagre rations of water and pears they had left no longer enough to ensure the most simple of bodily functions. 

“I feel bad, leaving him out like that.” Dick said.

“If we buried him, or even built a cairn, we may as well have laid ourselves down next to him,” Jason said with a shrug - although he would also be happier if they had been able to lay him to rest in a more covered, less scavenger infested way. 

“It just feels disrespectful to his family or something? I mean, I know dead is dead, but having a loved one eaten by vultures is just horrible, even if he was an evil, people trafficking douchebag. They’ll have to use dental records or DNA to get an ID.”  

“The Zoroastrians traditionally leave their dead for the vultures,” Jason offered.

“Yeah, but I doubt Hales family are Zoroastrians. It doesn’t make it less terrible because it’s someone else's respectful religious practice.”

“Fine. Yeah it’s awful. Sorry for trying to make you feel better, you sanctimonious shithead,” Jason grumbled.

Dick mock pouted at him, cracking his lips even more. “Love you too, Jaybird.”   
  


There remained the one question that Jason suspected was on both their minds; where was Bruce? And rescue? He could only assume whatever was causing the tech blackout was still active, but time was running dangerously short. He could feel his body giving out in one overheated increment at a time, and if they didn’t get rescued soon the damage might be irreparable. Dick might not even  _ make _ it until then. 

It was terrifying, the thought that he might be left here with Dick’s corpse. Fending off vultures and dealing with the smell, or leaving him like Hale – to get eaten. The idea of Daisy or Pete eating Dick’s pretty face, plucking out his eyes... He shuddered with his whole body.

“You okay?” Dick asked, like he wasn't dying right there alongside him. 

“Not really,” Jason admitted. “Can’t help but feel a little pessimistic about our chances.”

“Yeah.”

 

They were quiet a little longer, Dick dozing against Jason’s shoulder, but Jason couldn’t calm his mind. This was it, their last day; too weak to go and find more water, the next twenty four hours would kill them. There was a lot he wanted to say. He wanted to apologize for all the things he had done that he shouldn't have, he wanted to make sure Dick knew that the things he didn't apologise for were ones he stuck by. He wished a lot of things could have been different between them.

But what he said was “Ever murder someone?” because apparently what he really wanted to talk about was the man in the desert, back at the beginning of this clusterfuck of a mission. 

“What do you mean?”

“What I said. You ever murder someone? Not kill, murder.”

Dick shifted around a little, uncomfortable with the question maybe. “I didn’t know there was a difference. People have died because of my actions I’m sure,” he said.

“Murder  _ is _ different, murder is killing someone who didn’t deserve it,” Jason attempted to clarify.

“That’s bullshit. Murder is killing anyone outside of an accident or combat.” There was brief fire in Dick’s voice before he derailed himself following his chain of thought like a lost puppy. “I suppose police shootings don’t count as murder  _ if _ they are in actual self defence, but seems a hell of a lot of them  _ are _ murder, so I’m not sure it counts.”

“So, you shoot someone in the line of duty, it wouldn’t be murder in your eyes? It would be okay? A good shooting I mean, armed offender actively trying to harm rather than running away and being shot in the back.”

“I’ve never killed in the line of duty.”

“Avoiding the question, Dickie. You’re saying you are still okay with it if someone does that? How is that any different to me killing someone who’s attacking me? Because of a  _ badge _ ?”

“The difference, Jason, is that you often have to option of using non-lethal means. You have the tech and the training to do that. The cops don’t – they should do, it would make the world a hell of a safer place if we trained them not to shoot people because they got surprised, or they are too jumpy or lazy to run after the suspect or just too flat out racist to care. But you do have those options. I expect you to use them, lethal force should only be as a last resort.”   


“So you accept that as a last resort, it’s okay to kill?”

“To save a life? Yeah I guess I do. But only in those circumstances and if there is no other way.”

“How about..”

Dick laughed a sticky, rusty chuckle. “You should have been a lawyer, Jay. I always thought that when you were a kid. They only person that could out stubborn me in an argument.”

That had been true. They had argued a lot, mostly over stupid stuff like opinions on books or TV shows, but occasionally about politics and the law. Bruce was no fun to argue with - if he disagreed strongly, he would just shut you down, whereas Dick would get louder, wave his arms and his cheeks would colour with passion. He was always the most beautiful then, Jason had thought, even if he was wrong about what he was yelling about.

Because even then, Jason had held on to his convictions with the tenacity of a terrier with a rat. He sighed. “So the answer to my original question is no, you’ve never murdered someone, never killed in self defence or otherwise.”

“I never said that.”

“You’ve killed?  _ You _ ?”

Jason had intended to use this as a segway into his own confession, but that answer was a fucking surprise and a half and he couldn’t let it go.  “You killed someone on purpose?”

“Yeah. Well kind of, it didn’t stick. B resuscitated him. The other time was more complicated. I didn’t pull the trigger, but I could have saved him and I didn’t. Because I didn’t  _ want _ to - I wanted the bastard dead.”

Jason's mind was racing despite the sluggishness of his thoughts. Who had he killed? Why? Why was Bruce okay with it? If you killed someone and they got better was that  _ allowed _ ? Or did B understand because he wanted him just as dead?  “Was either of them Carson?” he asked. 

Dick's entire body went rigid at the sound of that name on Jason's lips, and he wished he could call it back, but if ever there was a time to talk through this crap, this was probably it. 

“Did Bruce tell you that name?” Dick said, in a strangled voice, it was practically quivering – although with anger or distress Jason couldn't tell. 

“No, no he never said anything about the previous mission other than it went wrong and you got hurt.”

“Then how?”

“You were having nightmares. You said his name a few times. Hale filled me in on what kind of man he was, and I put some shit together.” 

Dick was quiet for a moment, and completely still where he leaned against Jason. From their positions, Jason couldn't see his face behind the fall of his hair. He wasn't sure what he would see there if he could. 

“You don't have to talk about it,” Jason said, “I just thought - I don't know what I thought, actually. I  just didn't want you to feel guilty for killing him.”

“I didn't kill him,” Dick muttered, “but I wish I had. Even though I know he’s dead, it doesn't feel like enough. I don't feel guilty about that either, I feel guilty because I fucked up, and there were kids I couldn't save, and so many that slipped through the cracks after the mission fell apart, and it’s all my  _ fault _ ,” he said in a rush, his breaths heaving against Jason's arm as he curled into him. 

Dick was a person who needed the physical comfort, so despite Jason's own dislike of casual touching he slid an arm over Dick's shoulders and pulled him in. “That doesn't really sound like your fault. You were what? Sixteen? It’s Bruce’s fault.”

Dick huffed a bleak sounding laugh. “You can find a way to blame him for everything can’t you? It wasn’t his fault, we all miscalculated, but I should have been able to do the mission. I couldn't.”

“You should never have been put in that position! Did no one bother to research the man before you went in? Of course you would stand up for others, of course you would get noticed and would get chosen by the bad guy.”

“I thought I could handle it. And I thought, if I went in again, this time it would be different, that I could face what happened and pay back a bit of what I owe for fucking up so bad last time. But I just fucked up again. The same way – I just couldn't stand by and let someone get hurt in front of me, even if it was for the greater good.”

Jason sat in silence for a moment, thinking about the man in the desert. Dick would never have killed him. He would have stood firm. But would it have been worth it? Would Dick's superior fighting skills have saved him, or would he have ended up dying along side the man? 

“When I joined the corrupt border guards, they made me pass a loyalty test,” he heard himself saying, it was time to get it out in the open, even if it meant Dick hated him. “They took me out into the desert, where they had captured two migrants. They had short them both, but one was still alive. He was dying, but conscious, and they wanted me to kill him.” He paused, shut his eyes and took a couple of steadying breaths. He could remember the feeling of furious despair, fear and bitterness - and the look in the man’s eyes just before he pulled the trigger. 

Dick shifted against him, and when Jason opened his eyes Dick was staring into them. He wasn’t wearing the disgusted or angry expression Jason was expecting, it was more like concern.

“What did you do?” Dick asked, surprisingly gentle.

Jason was lost for words for a moment. “I, um… I worked out the probability of his survival, considering all the options I had - everything I could think of - and came to the conclusion I couldn't save him. If I tried, I would run a very high risk of failure, and that could in turn lead to the collapse of the mission. I didn't know what had happened to you, if you were in danger, or already dead. So my actions could mean all those people would be sold.” He looked at his hands, unable to take his eyes off the one that had held the gun steady as he fired, despite the turmoil of his thoughts. “I shot him. Quick and clean. I murdered him.”

Dick lay a hand against his arm, leaning his head back down to rest on Jason's shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jason,” he said, voice soft and to Jason's ears, compassionate. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“I don’t understand,” Jason said, not even embarrassed that his voice was thick with confused emotion. 

“You were forced to make a choice to do something you would never otherwise do.”

“Don’t I kill people all the time? “Jason said bitterly.

“Yeah, and don’t get me wrong, I still think killing is morally unacceptable under the circumstances you usually do it, and I still want you to stop. I know you’ve been trying to play by our rules despite your own feelings on the matter, and I respect that. But what you are describing is not the same. Someone forced you to make that awful choice.”

“Bruce wouldn't care - he would have done something else, anything not to murder an innocent man.” 

“B isn't superhuman. Yeah he might have pulled something out of his ass, but he also might have been killed. It’s not something we will ever know.”

“I never expected you to get this,” Jason admitted. It was unexpected, soothing to know someone got the fact that this  _ hurt _ , right down to his bones - and that he would always feel responsible, would always grieve for the life he had taken. 

“It’s something we’ve all come up against in one way or another, maybe not as obvious and in the face as this, but a choice between who to save if you only have one chance.”

Jason snorted at the choice of words, in the face indeed. “But you’ve never had to shoot someone in the  _ face _ as your choice.”

“No, I haven't. And I’m sorry you have. I don't believe you would have done that, if you had any other choice.”

Jason's heart was clenching and his mind was maelstrom. Not in a million years would he have expected understanding from this particular corner of the family. He would have put Dick on the same black and white fixed mortality side of things as Bruce. It wasn't absolution – no one living could give him that, but it was more of a comfort than he ever could have hoped for. He buried his face in Dick's hair. It was greasy, and smelled like days of sweat and blood and dirt and, although definitely disgusting, under the top notes of yuck, it smelled like home.

“Thank you,” he murmured, he wasn’t even sure if Dick heard him until a shaky hand gripped his.

“I told you mine, you wanna tell me yours?” Jason said, after some time had passed and his emotions were more under his control. “You don’t have to, just... if you want to talk about it, this might be the last chance.”

“I don’t know. I spent such a long time pushing it down, I don't know if I want to pull it into the light.”

“Ever talk to anyone about it? Friends? Family? Therapist?” Fat chance of that, Jason suspected, but maybe a friend?

“No. Bruce and Alf both knew what happened. But we didn't discuss it other than the ‘it’s not your fault’ speech. It was hard to make B let me go out again.” Dick sighed, “I don’t know if he became more controlling after that, or if it was my perception of him that was different, but our relationship changed.” 

Because Bruce had been suddenly afraid for Dick? Or because Dick had felt that he had to prove something to himself, and Bruce’s concern had gotten in the way? Impossible to tell.

“What about your friends?  It was a team mission wasn't it?”

Dick tipped his head back on Jason's shoulder and looked at the sky. He looked so damn sad it made something in Jason's stomach clench up into a ball of feeling that he couldn't put a name too. “I didn't tell them. I should have, but by the time I got my head out of my ass and realised that, it was too late.”

“Too late how Dickie?”

“I pushed them away, isolated myself. Fucked what might have been the start of a relationship – and a friendship in the process. I was pretty terrible about it, actually. I still feel bad.” 

“This was before Kory?” 

“Yeah.”

“Not Babs?” They had somehow managed to remain friends despite multiple, and often messy, attempts at dating.

“God, no - she pretty much still thought of me as a kid then. It was a guy. I couldn’t handle it...after. Couldn’t even handle that part of myself, still not sure I can.” 

“Oh.” Jason was slightly flummoxed for a moment. He hadn’t really considered that Dick might be bi – he flirted with pretty much everyone, sure, but it was very casual, almost friendly. Jason had heard  _ rumours _ , but they had mostly been told in spite so he’d dismissed them. Dick had never to his knowledge dated guys, so he had just assumed he wasn’t interested, but that being said it wasn’t hard to narrow down who he was talking about in regards to that failed first attempt with a dude.

“Was it Roy?” he asked. It was barely a question – Dick and Wally had always been the same level of loved up bros – but Roy and Dick? Lots of angry, tempestuous water under  _ that _ particular bridge; and in Jason’s experience, you didn't have that much explosive chemistry with someone if you didn’t also love them, and sex just added another level of heartache and mess. 

“Yeah,” Dick said quietly. “It was barely a relationship - just fooling around, making out in secret, that kind of thing – but it could have been more, maybe.  But afterwards, I pushed him away, hard and mean.”

“You? Mean?  _ Never _ ,” Jason said wryly. He knew as well as any of Dick's close friends and family how sharp and spiteful his tongue could be when he had a mind. 

Dick chuckled, “Yeah, alright, don’t pick on the dying guy.”

“We’re both dying, so I can pick on who ever I like,” Jason said, primly. 

“I’m  _ more _ dying than you.”

This time it was Jason’s turn to laugh, weakly. “Always got to be best at everything don’t you, Golden Boy?

“You bet! I’m an expert at this shit.”   
  


It was dark again, and Jason's arm was still slung around Dick's shoulders while Dick leaned against him, loose limbed and trembling in the cooling air. The fire was dying, but neither of them had the strength to find more fuel.  Jason had considered eating the chocolate bar to give himself a little extra boost, but he found he couldn't face the idea of it in his mouth, sticky and hard to swallow with his parched throat. 

“It took two days for Bruce to find me,” Dick said, after a while. 

Jason didn’t say anything, but he squeezed Dick a little tighter, silent encouragement to keep talking if he wanted. 

“He drugged me, so I couldn’t move, but I was conscious. I remember everything.”

“Why did it take so long?” The answer was probably the same as the situation they were facing now – technological blackout.

“He didn't keep me with the rest. When they crossed the border, he packed me into his trunk and drove to this place, out in the sticks. I think he just kept it there to… take people to.” Dick’s voice was so quiet, Jason had to strain to hear it. “He took me in there and he  _ hurt _ me.” Jason knew he didn't mean torture, but it seemed neither of them wanted to use the word to name what he had done. 

“And when Bruce found me, Carson was still… I mean,” He broke off and took a few breaths. “B  _ saw _ . And I was so grateful to finally be rescued, but I was so ashamed at the same time, and I had never seen Bruce that angry before. I remember wondering if this was what was going to push him to cross the line and I wasn’t even sure if I cared or not, and that made everything so much  _ worse _ .” 

Jason struggled to find the words to respond to that – but no platitude, heartfelt or not, seemed big enough to encompass it. “You’ve been holding on to this, for six years Dick. How are you even still functional?”

Dick scoffed. “Functional? You think I am? I mean I do my job, I’m fucking great at my job, even though when I fuck up it always seems to lead to people dying horribly, but I sabotage my relationships. I love people until I can’t cope and then push them away - if they don’t push me first.”

He sounded so lonely. Jason had never thought of Dick ‘everybody loves me’ Grayson  _ could _ be lonely.  It was horrible, so he naturally responded with irreverence. “Have you ever considered that you’re just an asshole?”

Dick snorted with laughter, the sound strangely uplifting despite the wheeze in it. “I love you, Jason, I really do. I don’t think I ever really said that to you.”

Jason felt warmth in his chest. Dying - again - really did make him a sappy bastard. “I love you too, Dickhead. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Not a word, not even to Daisy and Pete.” 

An hour later, Dick lost consciousness and nothing Jason could do would rouse him. His skin was cool to the touch and his pulse was thready and slow. That was bad, really bad. He knew what he would find when he pulled down Dick’s socks to check his wounds: a mottled discolouration that could have been dirt and bruises, but wasn’t. 

This was really going to happen. It was so strange – dying of septic shock in a desert would be what killed Nightwing, not some heroic fight, or even at the hands of some awful criminal. It was inconceivable somehow. Unfair. 

But when had anything ever been fair in his life? He wandered how long until Daisy and Pete and their nightmare buddies finished with Hale and came for them. He wouldn't let them have Dick, even if it meant he had to spend a day hugging a corpse until he also died. Perhaps it would just be better to put a bullet in his brain – just to make sure he was really dead before the vultures arrived. 

 

_ Beep _ .

_ Beep. _

It took Jason one hell of a long time to figure out the source of the sound was coming from his pocket. 

_ Beep _

He stared numbly at it for a long moment. Then started digging in the fold of fabric, his fingers so thick and clumsy they could barely hold the communicator when he finally tugged it free of his pocket. 

_ Beep _ .

Jesus, rescue at the last moment - hopefully, at least for him. It was going to be debatable if it would be timely enough for Dick.

He flicked it on “B?” he croaked, “ _ B _ ?”

There was static and then an excited voice. “I’ve found them! I’ve got a signal!” Tim. 

Then Bruce’s rumble, “Jason?” 

“Hurry,” Jason said,  “Septic shock, blood pressure, burns”. He struggled to find the words that would encompass what they needed, and how quickly. “Very thirsty”, he finished. That would have to do. 

Then, feeling like he was falling from a great height, he passed out. 

  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have finally reached the last chapter, only a few months late!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to ZillaBird for the prompt - I hope this worked for you - and thank you for your patience - I know I’m the slowest writer ever!
> 
>  
> 
> And Thank you Stopwatch_Plz my long suffering beta for this fic!
> 
> More notes at the end.

 

  
  


When Jason woke up he knew instantly that he was in a hospital, but he couldn’t remember where or why. He was clearly on some nice drugs but his skin felt weird and tight, like his face was one big scab. He started to take inventory of his wounds but found it difficult to tell exactly what was hurting and just how much due to the medication. 

Then, with a jolt of memory that sent his pulse skyrocketing, he remembered the desert - remembered Dick - but he had no memory of being rescued. His last thoughts were of talking to Dick, trying to wake him... and then nothing. If he was honest, he didn't know if he actually wanted to find out what had happened; if Dick had survived, or was on a cold morgue slab somewhere, or worse - that scavengers had carried him away or eaten him. 

Predictably, his panic brought nurses running, checking his vitals with worried expressions and ignoring his feeble attempts to escape from his bed. Then a doctor arrived, a short woman with warm eyes and iron grey hair. 

“How are you feeling Mr Peters?” she asked.

Jason winced at the alias, the association with his time in the border guards meant he was never intending to use it again.  

The doctor mistook his flinch for one of pain, and she frowned. “We can up the pain medication if you need it?” she said.

“Maybe,” Jason croaked, surprised at the sound of his own voice – his throat felt like it had been scraped raw. If Dick was dead, he would take the chance at oblivion and put off dealing with it for as long as possible. “The man I was with - is he alive?” he asked.

“Mr Grayson in the ICU,” the doctor told him. 

Alive. Sick, but still ticking. “Prognosis?”

“It’s been touch and go for the last few days, but he seems to have turned a corner. He was close to serious organ failure. We were looking into transplant options just a few days ago, and he is still on dialysis.” The doctor shrugged. “He was strong and healthy before this unfortunate incident and he seems determined to pull through. We expect his kidney function to continue to improve.”

“A few days? How long was I out?”

“Almost a week. We kept you in an induced coma while the worst of your sunburn began healing. We brought you out of it yesterday and allowed you to wake naturally. “

“Okay,” Jason said vaguely. He was still buzzing with relief to know that Dick had made it. Still kinda surprised that  _ he _ had made it.  Dragged under by a wave of fatigue, he closed his eyes and slept a little longer. 

He didn’t dream. 

 

When he next woke it was to find Bruce, in civvies, standing by his bed. He looked exhausted, like the past few weeks had aged him. Jason could relate. 

“You gonna hover there like a creeper or pull up a seat, B?” Jason muttered. Too tired and too pained to even bother with spite. Bruce nodded and moved stiffly to the faux leather armchair by the bed. Jason suddenly remembered the man had practically been in a body cast before he left – stubborn fool. The stubbornest. 

“Dick?” Jason asked as Bruce carefully sat, his face so impassive he must be hiding pain at the movement.

“Awake. Still in ICU. His kidneys were damaged by the sepsis, but he is making remarkable progress - the doctors are anticipating he will recover well enough to function normally. He suffered some level of cognitive dysfunction when he first woke, but he has improved since.”

“Feet? They were bad.”

Bruce nodded, the movement careful. “He needed skin grafts and the result may mean some level of retraining and lots of PT – but he managed to avoid gangrene and necrosis, so he kept them at least.”

Necrosis. Jason was glad that one had not occurred to him. Nightmares forever. 

“And me? Am I okay?” He honestly wasn’t sure – the suspected he was on a pretty high does of morphine.

“You are expected to recover full movement in your shoulder, so long as you put in the PT work. There might be a little scarring from the burns on your face and hands, but we will have the best in the field to deal with that, should it happen.”

Jason nodded, then winced when it made his face feel tight again. He must look a fucking state if he was as burned as it felt like he was. “Dick’s burns?” 

“Bad, but not as bad as yours. The worst of his were on his legs – as it seems that is the part of him that saw the least sun up until now.”

“Is he okay though? Like, is he okay in his mind?” Jason struggled to explain what he meant. Drugs made his head so fuzzy, but he suspected the pain would make it just as jumbled if he asked them to reduce the dose. 

“He is...” Bruce paused, “Upset, about the mission. But less so than I anticipated.” 

Probably because he got to actually talk about his trauma a little and have someone listen and care without judgement or Bruce's fucked up, fearful projection. “You should have taken him to counselling, after.” Jason said. “Even if he didn’t want to go. It should have been on the table. You could have found someone in the community.”

Bruce stiffened and his eyes narrowed. “He spoke to you about that?”

“Yeah. We were about to die, we could either doing the Big Bad Bat way, all stoic and manly and stupid, or go the other way and puke our feeling all over each other. We chose the road less travelled. It was cathartic. You should try it sometime.”

Bruce looked bemused for a moment, but then his lip ticked up in the corner, just a little. It was what passed for a simile Jason guessed. Then he sobered. “What about you, Jason? How are you… in your mind?”

Jason tried to puzzle though whether or not he should be insulted; was he concerned or being snide about his mental health? Which, to be fair, had not been great lately. “How’d you mean?” he asked suspiciously. “Nearly dying, watching Dick suffer, and worrying about both of us being eaten by vultures took it out of me a little.” He pulled his lips back in a parody of a smile. “But I’ve had worse.”

Bruce regarded him carefully for a moment. “I appreciate this must have taken a toll on you.” he said, then he reached into his jacket and held something out on his palm. “But I was wondering about this.”

It took Jason a few moments to recognise what he was looking at: A dirty, sandy and slightly worn looking pill - one of those that had been forgotten in his pocket. Shit. No doubt it’s twin had gone straight to the lab for tests and analysis.

“Dunno,” Jason said, not holding out much hope Bruce would believe anything he said at this point. 

“Jason. This is a tranquillizer, used to treat serious anxiety – although currently not recommended by most doctors due to the side effects it can produce in patients with PTSD.  You have traces of it in your system.”

“It leaves your system in a few days, B, so that’s bull.” Jason couldn’t stop the defensiveness creeping into his voice. And here he was, just moments ago, marvelling at having such a civil conversation with the old man.

“I tested your hair.”

And there went civility. “You  _ bastard _ .”

Bruce remained impassive in spite of Jason’s aggressive tone. “And I traced the doctor that prescribed it.” 

“What the fuck, Bruce? You can’t go and read people’s medical records! Just when I think your starting to act like an actual normal person, you go pull invasive shit like this!”

Bruce looked constipated for a moment, and Jason had to fight down an inappropriate laugh at the expression. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Bruce said slowly, as though carefully sorting through his words and feelings. “I just needed to know … if you were okay.”

“Then  _ ask _ ! Don’t fucking read my confidential shit – use your words!”

“Fair enough,” Bruce rumbled, moving seamlessly from defence into attack. “Are you taking these in the field, Jason? The cost to your reactions speed is-”

“I know the stats!” Jason broke in. “I know myself, my body and my abilities. My private medical records are just that— _ private _ ! Now fuck off!”

Bruce was back to looking pained. “Jason...”

“No Bruce, I’m too tired for this shit.”

“I understand. We can talk again later.”

Like fuck they were.    
  


As soon as he was able to walk unaided, Jason went to find Dick. He was in a private room - naturally - and asleep, hooked up to a bunch of machines and wires. It was so clear just how close they had come. He looked thin and small, his face burnt, although not as bad as Jason's, and his skin tanned as dark as Jason had ever seen it. He still looked very sick.  

He didn’t wake as Jason sat next to him, not even when he took his hand. 

Jason felt slightly embarrassed holding Dick's limp fingers while he slept restlessly, twitching at all the beeps from the various equipment, but he needed to feel the warmth in them, he needed to feel the life still in him. 

But when Dick stirred he let go and leaned back in his seat. 

Dick blinked his ridiculously long lashes at him. “Jesus,” he croaked “Is it Halloween already? Who you supposed to be - Freddy Kruger?” he said, his voice gaining strength as he spoke.

“Ha Ha,” Jason sneered. “Good to see nearly dying hasn't knocked your shitty sense of humour any. And anyway, you’re hardly one to talk. You look almost as bad.”

“Shut your mouth, I look amazing for nearly dying of thirst and exposure and organ failure.”

“Emaciated and deep fried is not your best look, to be perfectly honest. And I’m offended you would insinuate that I would even consider doing Halloween as Freddy. You know I go as undead-me every year. Complete with crowbar.”

“That’s because your sense of humour is actually worse than mine. People would never have thought it possible, but the facts speak for themselves.” 

Jason snorted, it made his face hurt, but it felt good too.  “I’m not sure if that was more insulting to me, or you.” he said, settling back in his chair. 

They sat in companionable silence for a bit. It was strange; other than the mission from actual burning hell they’d never really had companionable  _ anything  _ – time alone had always been filled with restless energy at best, and bitter, sullen anger at worst.  It was surprisingly easy to sit with Dick, lost in his own thoughts. 

Eventually though, Dick started to fidget. The thing with Dick and fidgeting, was if it wasn’t reined in, it just got worse and more annoying until you were ready to kill him.  

“What’s on your mind, Dickface?” Jason leaned forward to catch his eye. 

Dick looked guilty. His big eyes looking huge in his thin face. Jesus did Jason look that gaunt and worn too? It hadn’t been  _ that _ long without food, but then again Dick had been flat on his back for a couple of weeks too. 

“Bruce told me about the pills you’re taking,” Dick said. Still looking guilty.

Jason threw himself back into his chair. “Are you serious right now? Does no one in this fucked up weird-ass family respect any goddamn boundaries at all? What’s next? He gonna to hire a fucking sky-writer or something?”

“No. I think he’s just worried. Maybe he thought you might talk to me.”

“Fuck that. I want to talk to someone I will. That’s what my doctor is for.”

“He’s just worried,” Dick said.

“That’s not the damn point!” Jason slammed a hand down on the side table, making it quiver and nearly spilling Dick’s cup of water all over them both. 

Dick eyed the wobbling cup, as though judging the extent of Jason’s anger. “I know it’s invasive, but it’s just how he shows he cares,” he said carefully. “And he does, he really deeply cares. I know you don’t always believe it but he just finds it difficult to express so he gathers facts instead. And then, admittedly, ruthlessly invades your privacy,” Dick finished with a sigh. 

Jason let out a long sigh of his own, trying to release some of his anger along with it. “That’s just it, Dick. I  _ know _ he cares - I know that - but it’s not good enough. Whatever his motives for taking us all in, because he wanted kids, or wanted pint-size soldiers-”

Dick swatted at his arm, scowling.“You know that’s not true, don’t ruin a good rant with bullshit.”

“Fine, let me finish.” Jason swatted him back, none-too gently. He fucking hated being interrupted.  “Fact is he ended up with a bunch of damaged kids that he struggles to communicate with as a father. Even as a mentor – he’s good at orders, not so much at emotional support.”

Jason waved off Dick as he opened his mouth, no doubt to object. “I  _ know _ he loves us. I’m not stupid. But the way he shows it really, really sucks. My mental heath has jack shit to do with him, and even less to do with you. When he he can’t deal with things he gets you or Alfred to run interference -  which results in telling you about my private medical shit just because you like to talk about fucking feelings!” 

Jason realised he was standing, leaning over Dick who was looking up at him impassively from his bed. He felt suddenly stupid, but Dick just nodded quietly, for once keeping his mouth shut. It was a relief.  Something that probably would never have happened if they hadn't had their damn heart to heart in the desert. Jason sat back down, refusing to show his embarrassment at losing control. 

He sighed again, this time with exhaustion. “For the benefit of both you and Bruce's overbearing concern, it’s just something to take the edge off when it gets too much – I’m not the idiot you seem to think I am I know my limits, I know how much I can take before it affects my ability to fight or think. I wouldn't put my self needlessly in danger.” The  _ unlike you _ , went unsaid.

Dick smiled up at him, eyes suddenly full of affectionate humour despite the tension still in the air. “You did experiments didn’t you? Got your science on?"

“Of course I did!” Jason waved his hands, this time knocking the cup off the table and onto the floor with his gesticulating. “I’m not going out in the field compromised and getting my dumb-ass killed by some random thug. I would never be able to come back from the dead again, due to the shame of it.”

“You always have to bring that up, don’t you?” Dick smirked, then sobered a little. “I get it, I really do. But maybe you need to take a step back, if you’re at the point you need to medicate to keep your shit together?”

“Would  _ you _ ?” Jason said pointedly. “Seems to me, your way of dealing with stress and trauma is to just keep flinging yourself at it, no matter what mental or physical state you’re in. Seems to be you’ve got no leg to stand on in this particular argument.”

Dick gave him a wry smile. “You’re probably right. As soon as I can walk properly and am off these machines – I’m hunting down the rest of these fucks, if there's any left after Bruce unleashes all of that pent up worry on them.” 

Jason gave a small smile in return. “Yeah, I know. I’m going with you."   
  


It wasn't a lie – he would be going with Dick to make sure they mopped up any remaining assholes - but he also wasn’t going to wait, not only because Dick was going to be laid up for another week or so, but also because he had a personal problem to deal with: Tate. 

Despite what everyone seemed to think, Jason  _ wasn’t _ actually a moron. Not only was he a good way from being at peak condition, and not in good shape for a fight, but he also knew he wasn’t going to be able to slip away and deal with Tate when he had Bruce looming all over him and Dick being needy and demanding he visit every day. 

There were other ways to get a job done. Expensive ones to be sure, but he had plenty of amassed bad-guy cash at his disposal. The trick was going to be doing it under the Bat’s nose. He was a very good hacker, but the combined might of Oracle, Tim and Bruce himself meant all his lines of communication were potentially compromised, so he had to be sneaky. 

How better to circumnavigate the family cyber web than from the inside?   
  


He slid into the booth at the ice cream parlour with a creak of leather and a thump of his soda on the table.  Duke jumped a little and Steph’s eyes widened, but Tim just lifted a slow, sardonic eyebrow. 

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” he asked.

Jason grinned and spread his arms along the back of the seats. “Anyone who isn’t a genius level hacker, scram,” he said. Jerking his thumb towards the doors.  Neither of them looked like they were going to move but that was okay, Jason had come with bribes. “First one out gets free tickets to that shitty band you both like – you both forget about this conversation and I’ll throw in an invite to the after party.”

“Done!” Steph said. 

“Let me see the ticket,” Duke said, holding out a hand. Smart boy that one.

Steph smirked. “Oh he wouldn't  _ dare _ withhold on the goods – or we might tattle.”

Jason shoved the tickets at them. He was strangely jealous they got to be so goofy and do kid stuff like see crap bands they would be embarrassed to remember in five years time. He hadn’t even been old enough to drive when he died.  “So get” he said, waving a dismissive hand.

They got.

“No ticket for me?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, I got you one too, because I’m nice like that.”

“You know we can afford our own, right?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know. But it makes them happy to feel like they got one over on me.”

Tim smiled a little. “What do you want, Jason?”

“I need to make a call and a bank transfer, without eyes or ears.  I know you can make that happen.”

“I can, but I’m going to need a bit more information before I actually do.”

Jason had debated how he was going to broach this – it was complicated considering what he could and couldn't say without breaking confidences or compromising Tim’s own morals.  He still wasn’t sure how he was going to lay it out, and he chewed his lip a little. 

“One of the guys escaped the clean up,” Jason began, watching Tim carefully. The healing burns on his face itched.

“Steven Tate.”

“That’s him.” 

“We’ll find him, Jason, he’s got a head start and he’s keeping himself well hidden. No doubt he remembers what happened to his predecessor after he got caught. He didn’t last the night before his own people had him killed.”

Jason shifted in his seat and leaned forward a little.“Yeah, but security’s going to be twice as tight, and we’ve done a lot of damage to there organisation already. They might not get him.”

“That’s the plan. We will catch him, then keep him alive long enough to stand trial.”

“That’s the issue. It’s not just that I want the fucker dead for nearly killing me and Dick - don’t get me wrong, I really do - but I could wait on that. Go deal with it myself at a later date. But Bruce will catch him before it comes to that.”

“So? What are you holding back?”

“I don’t want him to go to trial. He was second in command to the last captain of the border jerks.” Jason grimaced. This was skirting to close to breaking confidences.  “He was there when Dick's previous mission fucked up.”

Tim looked at him seriously, his eyes considering. “You’re afraid of what might come out in court.”

“Yes,” Jason said, cautiously. 

“Because of identity reasons, or because of the previous mission?”

For some reason, Jason hadn’t expected Tim to know the details of that. But he was Tim; he had probably read every file Bruce had ever created about everything. “How much do you know?” He asked.

“I read the files.” Tim pursed his lips, considering. “Bruce is meticulous in his record keeping. He doesn't leave anything out, even if it’s descriptions of his own failures.” He poked at the remains of his ice cream with his spoon. “What was disturbing about that mission report, was everything it  _ didn't _ say. He censored himself. I knew it had to be bad.”

“It was.”

Tim sat back, deep in thought. Jason was kind of relying on the fact he loved Dick more than he loved Bruce’s rules. That he might chose to look the other way if it was for Dick’s sake. 

“If I give you access, you will just find someone to track him down and threaten him into silence, right?” Tim asked.

Bingo. “Yeah?” I mean, like hell, but Jason knew that and Tim had to know that too. 

“I don’t condone killing,” Tim said, looking him in the eye with an inscrutable expression on his face.

“You sound like your old man.”

“ _ Our _ old man - but yeah. If I help you, and you find a way to kill him... both our hands are dirty, you understand?” 

“I do.”

“Then I’ll leave the decision to you.”

Jason nodded. His mind was already made up – and Tim must know that. If this was a test, he was going to fail with flying colours. “Okay.”   
  


Two days later, Tim gave him the access he needed, and Jason hired the hit. Of course, he requested that it was made to look like it was retaliation for fucking up and running. He had studied the hit on Carson, the other murders the Syndicate had green lit. When they found Tate’s body, Bruce had been angry and frustrated – he had nearly caught up with him, just a step behind.  He seemed to believe the ruse, and the syndicate didn’t set him straight; Tate  _ was _ green lit, so it was a means to an end for them.

It seemed to have gone off without a hitch. It couldn’t be traced back to him. To them. 

The night he got confirmation it was done he slept the sleep of the just, and the next morning he picked up some dumplings and noodle soup, downloaded some shitty movies to his ipad and went to see Dick in the hospital, his step a little lighter.   
  
  


Epilogue. 

It had taken Jason a few months to track down Ana. Like the sensible girl she obviously was, she had not given her real name to the authorities and had been sorted into one of the many holding facilities for undocumented, unaccompanied children. But he had eventually found her, and Bruce’s money and power had gotten him in to see her – a private meeting to discuss her future, and a possible sponsorship form the Wayne foundation. Dick had come too, of course, as the man couldn’t stay out of Jason’s business for more than a hot second these days. 

When she saw him, her eyes widened. “Jason, I see you found Ricky.”

“Yeah, nearly got both our stupid asses killed in the process. But we did alright.” He came and sat opposite her at the table. Dick squished in next to him, getting all up in his space as usual. Ana looked amused at least. Jason sighed, elbowing Dick in the ribs so he could at least get enough room to breathe.

“Sorry it took us so long to find you,” Dick said, ignoring Jason’s scowl and put-upon sigh. “Are you well? Any issues with...” Dicks lip curled and he gestured vaguely at the bare walls. “This place?”

“They feed us, we get books and clothes,” Ana said. “They haven’t hurt me, and soon they will send me home.”

“We can help you stay, if you would like?” Jason said. 

Ana seemed to consider for a moment. “No. I have decided to go home,” she said at last. “I met your...boss and his companions. I have decided that is what I want be, a hero. Not here though - back home, for my people.”

Jason rubbed a hand over his face. Crap. It’s not like he could object to the idea of her returning to Guatamala, dressing up like a lunatic and protecting people – he was hardly one to talk - but he felt responsible for her. She was just a kid, with no training, just a lot of stubborn and a hell of a lot of anger.

And oh  _ God _ was this what  _ Bruce _ felt like? 

He groaned, and beside him Dick started laughing. “It’s okay, Jay, we all have that moment of introspective realisation,” he said patting Jason on the back. “Listen, Ana, people like us – our life expectancy is rarely above thirty. For those that start as young as you? It’s not even twenty. Not without training. Not without guidance.”

“I’m going to do it,” Ana said with a scowl.

Jason groaned again and Dick chuckled. “I get it, Ana, I do. But If you want to do this, you have to do it sensibly. That means accepting help, our help. You can’t jump into this with no training. We didn’t.”

“You did,” Jason muttered.

“B had trouble pinning me down, to be sure, but I did accept help and am still training, fifteen years later.”

“ _ How _ old were you?” Ana asked, sceptically.

Dick waved a hand. “Far too young. But my point stands.”

“Quick consult, Dick.” Jason said, switching to Russian. “I get where you’re going with this, but I don’t think B was expecting you to bring the girl home – I think he was planning on funding a visa, education and a foster family. Not that he doesn’t have room for one or five more kids but...”

“I wasn’t thinking of B, Jay.  We have plenty of other people who can work with her. Considering what she’s been through, someone with more… emotional understanding might be better?”

“Do you mind?” Ana said irritably. “Don’t speak like I’m not here.” 

“Sorry,” Jason said, with a small smile. He liked this girl; he  _ had been  _ this girl, years ago.

“Ever been to Asia?” Dick asked.

Ana gave him a look that said  _ What do you think? Asshole. _

“Yeah okay, stupid question. I,  _ we, _ have a sister out there at the moment, in Hong Kong. She divides her time between there and the US. She might be willing to teach you. You would have to go to school, live a normal life while you train, but later, you could return home and be the hero you want to be.”

“You don’t have to decide now,” Jason added. “Think it over, we’ll be back tomorrow – whatever you decide, we’ll help you.”

“Whether I want it or not?” she asked, but with a small smile on her lips.

“Yeah probably,” Jason said. And God-damn it, more Bruce.

Dick slapped him heartily on the shoulder and grinned as he stood. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Ana.” He grabbed Jason by the elbow and pulled him towards the door. “Come on, Jay, I’ll drive, and you can have your first kid related freak out in the car.” 

“I hate this family,”Jason said, but he was grinning too. 

 

End.

  
  
  
  


And finally - an outtake:

 

A note from my beta regarding the typo (or possible freudian slip):

 

“Dick’s buns?”   **_omfg, I'm sorry but I literally laughed out loud. Best typo ever (at least I'm assuming you meant burns?). Now I'm just imagining Jason lying in hospital, covered in burns, worrying that Dick's ass has been somehow injured lol <3_ **

 

 

Thanks again for bearing with me and my slow slow writing! And thank you for all your wonderful comments and Kudos - I tried to keep up with answering them, but i’m rubbish :(  I love every single one though.

 

 

Now what shall I write next? Ideas On my [Tumblr](http://itispossibleihaveissues.tumblr.com/post/179756456614/what-shall-i-write-next).

 


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